


You Can't Take That Away

by Cascaper



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, also featuring some good birdy bois- you know. Chocobos, and those are the main three, featuring Haurchefant the Ever-Helpful, tense-jumping ALL OVER THE PLACE because this is a collection of works written at various times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cascaper/pseuds/Cascaper
Summary: ...from me, TUMBLR.Herein is all I have written, and here will be all I shall write, about the adventures of Livorette Farouche, her beloved Gogoha Goha (who belongs to one louderthanthedj), and L's sister Sélysette Babiole.(Now rated Mature, as of chapter 14.)





	1. Like It or Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louderthanthedj](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=louderthanthedj).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: nine years before the present.

Like so many things in life, it was over almost before Livorette knew it had happened.

She was twelve, out with Mama on a visit. Mama always made her come along on visits. (Sély was eight already; she should have had to come too. But no, she got to stay home with Papa… boo.)  All in the name of that wretched  _etiquette_ : the importance of which Livy still didn’t understand, and which she wasn’t good at anyway.

This day they were calling upon Mama’s friend Lady Garance, to cheer her up after a recent illness—which also meant seeing her daughter Celestine. Livy would have liked her better if she didn’t pretend that a mere six extra moons and three extra ilms made her so much  _older_. 

“Your mama said you mustn’t get dirty,” Celestine reminded Livy, for the umpteenth time. “We won’t be allowed to have our tea in the garden any more if you act like such a child.”

“We  _are_  children. And never mind what Mama said.” Livy didn’t look up from the tired bee on the gravel path, who would be able to get a drink if he would just crawl onto the leaf she had prepared for him. “Come on, little ser, you can do it…”

She could hear the faint rustle that was Celestine tossing her plum-colored curls, even under that impatient sigh. “It’s only a bee. They sting, they buzz, they’re not even nice. Why do you  _care_?”

_There_ , safe at last. Able to reach the sugar water. Livy stood up and carefully backed away before turning round.

“Do you like fruit, Celestine? Honey? Food in general?”

A blink from those long-lashed amber eyes. “Well of course I do, but I don’t see what—”

“None of those would be possible without bees. Nor would anything in this garden. No flowers, nothing, not without little sers like that one. We need them, all of them. Whether you like them or not.”

Livy couldn’t read the other girl’s face. The creased brow, slightly pursed mouth… gleaming eyes, slightly narrowed but staring all the same. For a few seconds neither of them spoke.

“…Hmph.” Celestine was the first to look away. “Well, I still don’t like them. So there. And you have dust all over your hem, you know.”

The clock struck one, precluding further conversation. Livy brushed hurriedly at her skirts and made to reenter the house; she was stopped, however, by a firm hand on her arm.

“Ah, ah—I must walk you to the door. It is rude to leave your hostess behind.” Celestine slipped her elbow through Livy’s own.

“Aren’t you worried about the dust?”

“It is hardly my fault if you insist upon meddling with insects.”

Livy tugged her arm free. “I shall remember that, if you ever faint someday- no meddling.”

“Livorette!” There was Mama in the doorway. “There is no need to be curt, particularly when one is a guest.”

She exhaled slowly, through the nose. Counted to ten. “I beg your pardon, Celestine.”

“That’s quite all right, Livorette.” Cool and gracious as a willow over a stream—oh,  _boo_. She made Livy tired.

Mama was pleased, of course. “Now I fear we must be going for today. Tell your mother again that we wish her all the best in her recovery.”

There was that perfect little pearly smile. “I certainly will, Lady Cyprienne. Go in safety, return in health.”

Curtsey, hold, rise. Return curtsey, hold, rise. And then the inward lean, the angled cheek—

Time froze. Just for a second.

Then it was past, and they were leaving, and Livy’s mouth felt strange and tingly as they stepped out into the street.

* * *

She puzzled over that moment for weeks, tracing her lips, night after night. One was only supposed to give a peck in the air beside the face when meeting or parting; everyone knew that, especially people who thought they were so clever and grown-up.

And yet, for one mad instant, her lips and Celestine’s had met.

Like so many things in life, it went unacknowledged ever after, by any of the parties involved. Livy finally resigned herself to the fact that she would simply never know whether it had been a genuine accident, or whether Celestine had done it on purpose. (Turned her head too fast, maybe. Or not far enough. Or something.) Someday it would happen again, maybe. With someone else. And then she would know.

_Twelve, let it be soon._


	2. Close Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's All Saints' time, which means? That's right. Dressed-up date.

“Gogo! Gogo, look, I’m a bat!”

To be a Lalafell is to see the world from close to the ground. Gogoha, naturally, was used to looking up at others. But this was a step to the extreme.

“Livy, come down,” she called to the rosy-haired Elezen, in a tone intended to be amused nonchalance. “You’ll tear your tights. Also, you might land on your head if you don’t watch out.”

Livorette only waved her arms for an answer, cape flapping, as she hung by her knees from the branch of a tree. “Nonsense, my love. Bats don’t fall, they fly! Especially magical vampire-bats!” More flapping. “Which I am.”

“All the blood is rushing to your face.”

“And if I told you it was a flush of desire?” This with a waggle of the eyebrows.

That brought a little heat to Gogoha’s cheeks, but she ignored it. “I’d call bullshite. Will you come down already?”

“Not til you kiss me!”

_Seven hells, woman, we’re in the middle of  the city!_ “You know I can’t reach you up there.”

“Yes you can,” Livy sang back. “I’ll pull you up. See?” She stretched out her hands and swung a bit, grasping for some part of Gogoha’s person- her sleeve, her collar, something-

-and the branch cracked. With a great thud, the erstwhile ‘bat’ hit the ground.

“ _Livy!_ ” Gogoha raced to her, already pulling out her staff. “You daft dhalmel, I told you you’d fall—are you all right?!”

From beneath a drawn brow, Livorette’s dark blue-gray eyes slowly opened. “I’m fine,” she wheezed.

“Mmhmm.” But she cast a few quick Cures anyroad, just to see those pain lines disappear. “How on earth you lived to meet me in the first place, I’ll never know…”

“Oh, I assume it was destiny. The Twelve watch over fools and lovers.”

Look at her. Grinning like she hadn’t just fallen out of a godsdamned tree, like she was bloody exhilarated. Like a plasmoid shock, direct to Gogo’s spine.

She didn’t even see Livy’s hand move, before a tug at the back of her neck sent her lurching forward into a kiss.

_Gods, her lips are soft_. The smells of mossy earth and carline-blossom tea filled Gogo’s head, at least the part of it not occupied by warm breath and sweet pressure. She gave a breathless little moan, took that foolish face between her hands and lost herself in the moment…

Then someone wolf-whistled, and the spell was broken.

Gogoha sat up, cheeks aflame. “I suppose that’s the Twelve watching over us now, is it?”

“Of course.” Livorette rolled over, heedless of her costume, and got to her feet. “That’s their way of saying, let’s get a room… or something close enough.”  


	3. Sudden Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be where that Teen rating comes in. And first-person narration comes with it!  
> Timeline: immediately follows previous chapter.

The Shroud is rather fickle with its weather this time of year. Drop of a hat, it starts to rain. Most folk have gotten into the habit of carrying umbrellas, or at least wearing cloaks. Some even learn fancy spells to make themselves impervious to such showers, to dry themselves off if the storm catches them by surprise. 

Me, I just get soaked. 

But today I’m out with my lady—my dear Gogoha—and it is too cold for simply enduring this weather. Got to seek shelter.  

We run from the downpour, mossy ground squelching under our feet. I’d be content with a simple awning or even a particularly thick-leaved tree, yet every likely spot is packed. We have no choice but to make tracks for the Roost. Despite being (or trying to be) a rougher-edged sort of person these days, I am a bit bothered by the way we drip water all over the wood floors as we shoulder our way through the equally damp crowd. 

Gogo seems to be in a terrible hurry, one which persists well after we have reached the corridors of the inn proper. She practically bounds toward our door. By the time I catch up, she’s already standing before our fire; she hasn’t even broken a sweat. It’s only the rainwater making her hair stick so closely to her head. 

I swing the door carefully shut. Slip out of my cape and vest, out of my sodden shoes. I’m about to peel off my tights when I find myself pulled- not by a hand, but by magic. Yanked right off my feet. I land in the cradle of a lean little arm, looking up at vivid violet eyes in a slightly flushed face. 

“H.. hi,” I say, still catching my breath, and then Gogo is kissing me. 

Her mouth is fierce, fervent; it seizes mine and drags me under a wave of passion. I feel like a sailor swept off the deck into the arms of a mermaid. We share breath, back and forth, drifting through the velvet deep. 

When she pulls back, a hazy smile spreads over my face. “What was that for?”

“For being so bloody irresistible.”

And she looks at me with her eyes wide and dark, two beckoning pools; pale bangs with inky purple tips hang down, branches of blossoms over the water. I couldn’t break away if I wanted to. Couldn’t even stand up. She lowers me gently to the ground.

* * *

I’m not sure when, but Gogo’s shed her own cloak and boots. And her hat. Leaving her in her dress—with its cinched waist and its  _incredibly short_  skirt—and her tights, which have the most unbelievable fishnet segments from the seat to the upper thighs. “Hells,” I choke, taking her in as she crosses to stoke the fire.

“Not yet,” she purrs. “What’s the matter, eh?”

“Oh… only the finest view in all the realm.” Even half-drunk on the lingering high of her kiss, it seems I can be somewhat coherent…

…never mind. Gogo all but sashays back to me, deliberately shaking her hips, making the most of that skirt and reducing me once more to a puddle of mush.

She’s merciless, wasting no time in straddling my waist and absolutely ravishing me with kisses: on my eyelids, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, below my ears, under my chin. All I can do is gasp and pant, and cling to her. “Ah, haa, oh  _gods_ , G-gogo…”

“Mm?” Still kissing me.

_You’re amazing, you’re incredible, you’re so hot I may have a stroke…_  but I can’t seem to actually say any of this. “Mmm,” I groan, as her lips are back on mine.

Her deft little hand undoes the hooks of my shirt, from collar to waist, then slips inside to find my breast and seize. To caress with her fingertips, overtop of my bra, as she squeezes her thighs round me. I throw my head back, only for her to brace her other hand on my shoulder and start working her way down my neck with maddening slowness. And teeth. Even through the tingles and fizzing nerves, I’m a little confused. “W-wait, Gogo, what are you-  _ahh_!- doing?”

“What’s it look like?” she answers, between spots. “I got inspired by your choice of costume.”

“In…inspired?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

By the time she’s gotten down to my collarbone, I’m too riled up to stay passive. I undo the single button at her throat, pull her in to devour the creamy expanse thus revealed. I can taste the remains of the rain, the sweet and the salt of her skin. “Finally…” I sigh.

“Finally, you say.”

“That damn peephole’s been tempting me for ages.”

“Then it did its-  _mmm_ \- job.” She buries her fingers in my hair, leans forward so that I’m blinkered by the fluttering sides of her bodice. Lovely, but I haven’t finished yet.

I never thought of my hands as particularly large, til I compared them to damn near every part of Gogo. I take her hip in one, her thigh in the other, and hold her still while my thumb reaches down to stroke the front of those marvelous tights. She lurches upright and gasps- a soft, high sound that shoots straight to the roof of my skull, then ricochets into my drawers. With every subsequent stroke, the color blooms brighter in her cheeks; her gasps turn to whimpers, then to hitching moans. “Hnn, hnng… oh  _Liv_ …”

She took her time over that business with my neck; I’m taking mine now. Slow, steady, speeding my pace only by the smallest degrees. Yet just when I think she’s going to tip over the edge, she pulls my hand away.

“Hold it,” she pants, and wriggles out of my grip. Slides off me to a stand, albeit a shaky one. “I… I need a minute…”

“Okay.” All the better to admire the view. And then, when she’s had her minute, to watch said view rapidly improve as she removes the tights, tries to rid herself of the dress. The latter turns out to be tougher than anticipated, or perhaps excitement is muddling her usual dexterity. Eventually she gives up—though she has managed to get her arms out of the sleeves at least.  _Who’s irresistible now, hm…?_

“Come here,” I whisper, and she does.

* * *

“Hey,” I blurt, as we lie cuddling under the covers. “You never did tell me what you meant about my costume inspiring you, before.”

“Huh..?” Gogo yawns. “ _Oh._ Kissing your neck. Because you were dressed as a vampire.”

I smack my forehead. “Damn it! I should have thought of that. Dense of me.”

“Yes, but I still love you.”

Well, I’m not going to argue with that.

 


	4. No Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -just felt like doing it.  
> Back to present-tense third-person narration here.

It was probably too soon.

Yes, definitely too soon to be thinking of marriage. She was still only one-and-twenty, far too young to settle down.

But would it be settling? Not as such. For one thing, Livy counted herself lucky beyond all measure that Gogoha returned her affections- so certainly not settling in that sense. For another thing, they were adventurers. They could go wherever they wanted, whenever. Two hardy women roaming the realm. It wouldn’t be as if they had to build a nest right away. (Besides, Livy was broke. No nest-building of any nature would be possible at the moment.)

Still, though… she shouldn’t say it yet. Shouldn’t scare Gogo off. Just enjoy what they have for the moment, and approach the subject when the time should be right.

* * *

The thing was, the time seemed right about a dozen times per day.

When she woke up thinking of her. When she got into (and out of) fights. As she stabled Percinet… and especially on those nights she was lucky enough to spend with her beloved. 

Could be all those fairy tales that she and Sély grew up on, or it could simply be that she was born a romantic. But Livy was as certain as a person can be that she’d found the love most people only dream of. If nothing else, she might tell Gogo that. 

So she gathered lilies and lavender, carlines and carnations. Tied the lot into a neat bunch. Placed them under a card addressed to her dear, and let the moogle post do the rest. 

Of course, when the time was right, she would make sure she proposed in person. But today this would serve well enough.

* * *

_How I do love thee! Let me count the names,_  
_The many names I’ve called thee in my heart:_  
_My Rhalgr’s-gold, which grows where lightning aims_  
_And strikes the earth, much like an archer’s dart._  
_My lilybell, with nodding head of white,_  
_Tho’ thy fair head is dearer to me far._  
_At dusk or dawn, the rays of purple light_  
_Recall your eyes–my lovely Evenstar._  
  
_My Korrigan, of all such plants the queen,_  
_Whose shriek makes enemies unwary fall;_  
_My Lady of the Levinbolts, serene_  
_And deadly; my madame of honeyed gall._  
_Joy of my heart, my cliff-rose, my divine,_  
_All these and countless more art thou to me!_  
_I think our meeting must have been a sign_  
_From Nymeia herself, that all might see_  
  
_The kindness of the Spinner manifest:_  
_May all lovers be so entirely blessed!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percinet is, of course, Livy's beloved chocobo.


	5. From Livy, with Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gogoha has a nameday, and a girlfriend who is much enthused about this.  
> (POV: Gogoha, third-person limited.)

_20th Sun, 6th Astral Moon_

_Time: 7 am_

Gogoha was awoken by the muffled shrilling of her linkpearl, somewhere in her room. It took several bleary passes through her things before she found it.

“H-” yawn- “hello?”

“Gooood morning, Gogo!” sounded a familiar voice on the other end. “Happy nameday!”

“Thank you… ngh. What time is it?”

The answer came with an audible grin. “Time for me to ask the best woman I know what she wants to do today.”

Twelve, it was early for Livorette to be so… so awake. She must have made special effort for this. Even half asleep, Gogo couldn’t help being a little touched.

“Coffee, to start. Then we’ll see.”

***  
_Time: 7:30_

It had been a nice thought, and nicer still to see a beaming Liv at her door with a piping hot kettle in hand. But Gogoha was starting to become concerned.

“Liv, ah… perhaps it would be better if I poured this?”

“No, no! Namedays aren’t for serving oneself. Now let me try again…”

And there went another splash of coffee, outside the mug. Oh dear.

Impatience won out; Gogo marched over and plucked the kettle from Livorette’s fingers. There was just enough left to make a respectable cup.

“I could have done it…” A gaping yawn cut off the attempted protest.

“Indeed. And how much sleep did you get, exactly?” (A guilty shuffling of feet.) “I thought as much. Go on, have a nap.”

“But… what about…”

Gogo shooed her in the direction of the bed. “I’m still waking up myself. You sleep.”

“And—” (a louder yawn this time) “—and you’ll wake me when you know what you want to do today?”

“Yes. Now  _sleep_.”

***  
_Time: 11 am_

The coffee having done its work, Gogoha took advantage of Liv’s slumber to wipe the table clean and collect her thoughts. As the clock tolled eleven, she heard sleepy noises from the bed.

“Mm… hi.” Livorette blinked, stretched; gave Gogo a dozy smile. “You didn’t wake me.”

“I would have, but you beat me to it. Feel better?”

For answer, she found herself wrapped in one long arm and pulled into an embrace. “Yep. Much. So… what are we doing?”

Gogoha allowed herself a good ten seconds of snuggling before she sat up. “Getting the good walking boots on. Then hitting the airship landing.” 

“Oho.”

***  
_Time: 2 pm_

Autumn or no, Costa del Sol remained lovely- just slightly more windswept, and perhaps a touch chillier than usual. Still, it would take more than a bit of wind and cold to keep the pair from a nice afternoon stroll (and a spot of snipper slaying, when the wavekin threatened to impede their path). 

Gogo might have guessed what was up when Livy, with a gleam in her eye, asked her to wait on one of the benches: “Just a moment, I promise.” Of course she came back with a whole sodding picnic basket. 

“I thought I was to decide what we did today…”

“Well, you did, and then I called ahead. Dyrstweitz was very kind to make this for us on such short notice, wasn’t he?” A brilliant smile. 

Hot drinks. Hot soup. A sunset almost as vividly colored as the hair of the woman beside her. Gogo’s day was very nearly complete.

Yet there was one more thing she wanted to do.

***  
_Time: 12 am_

Were it not so windy, she might have done that last thing then and there. But as dusk fell, it became rather too cold to stay on the beach. And Livy’s regular room at the Mizzenmast was a mere ferry ride away.

Now they lay cuddled together, warm and cozy under the covers. Gogoha woke from a light sleep, looked about to remind herself where she was…

Ah yes. In the arms of her dear foolish girl. Her daft dhalmel. Her love. Her Livorette.

Happy nameday to her, indeed.


	6. A Sister Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which, through two short scenes, we meet our third main character- Sélysette, nee Farouche, now traveling under the assumed surname of Babiole.

Sélysette is vexed.

First her sister had the cheek, the nerve, the unmitigated gall to vanish from home in the dead of night (or possibly the very early morning? who could say?). To leave Sély alone with an inconsolable mother and gravely concerned father, all of them racking their brains for the why of it. Failing to understand, until finally there was no help for it: someone would have to go and find her.

‘Someone’ meaning Sélysette. There were not really any other options.

She thought her older sister couldn’t have gone too far. She thought if she went to Gridania and looked long enough, sooner or later she would hear of her: six fulms and a few odd inches, brilliant pink hair, with a penchant for naps and a weakness for beautiful girls. Though the naps would probably identify her sooner; who could miss that head as it leaned on a hand or lay on a weary forearm?  Yes, Sély was certain there couldn’t be too many other people with that precise combination of traits. Even in a great city like Gridania. And even if there were some, only one would have their father’s dark blue-gray eyes.

But here is Sély, over five moons after the disappearance, and neither hide nor hair of her sister has deigned to be found. All she has to show for her search is a set of guild memberships (the Adventurers’ and Lancers’) and some extra muscle. Also a sense of great irritation.

She has tried to keep her head level, to be a diligent and disciplined lancer-in-training whilst carrying on her search. She has kept herself focused. She has had her eyes and ears peeled raw for the vanished sibling, and to no avail. Where in the Warden’s name can Livy  _be_? Somewhere far beyond Gridania, perhaps. Beyond the Twelveswood.

If only Sély could guess where.

* * *

It was enough to make a person scream.

After moons on end, she’d finally gotten a lead. Ceinguled stopped Sély on the way back from a hunt, saying she’d been approached by a woman matching the description Sély had given: pink hair, six-and-a-bit fulms, the lot.  “She was recruiting for a new grand company. One to serve all Eorzea.” 

“Did she say where their headquarters were?” Sély refrained from dancing in place by sheer force of will. 

“Yes- a place called Revenant’s Toll, out in Mor Dhona. Right… here,” and the Wailer marked a spot on Sély’s map. “Pass through the Coerthas central highlands, then through the Hall of the Seven Echoes, and there you are.” 

“Excellent. Thank you! Thank you very much!” 

And off she rode without another thought, only to arrive in a place positively swarming with adventurers. Dozens, hundreds of them, every shape and size. Had they seen anyone like her sister? Oh, they all had… 

“Passes through here every day, just about.”

“In and out through the Seventh Heaven.” 

“Down by Silvertear Lake.” 

“Out toward the Tangle, cuttin’ down morbols.”

“Carries an axe twice as big as your head!” 

(An  _axe_? Good gods.)

But ride as she would, search as she would, not one of these clues bore fruit. For all that Livorette’s name was on everyone’s lips, her body remained well out of reach. 

Still, Sély couldn’t go home without her. Couldn’t give up. So here she would stay until her luck improved. 

 


	7. Letters (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then, well. The Bloody Banquet happened.  
> Most of these were written as answers to the FFxivWrite2018 Challenge.

_Liv:_

I know I don’t usually write to you. But then again, you never ignore my calls.

I repeat,  _never._ You told me they were the one thing that would wake you out of a dead sleep. I keep telling myself these horrible rumors from Ul’dah- about the banquet, about you and poison and murder- that they can’t be true. But something in them must. Why else would you go silent for all this time?  ~~Where _are_ you…?!~~

I still love you. No matter what you’ve done or why. Just be safe. Please. 

Please.

-G

* * *

 

_My dearest Gogoha:_

They ask me if I’m ill. I always tell them no.

After all, I’m still in one piece. Still able to move and fight and put one foot in front of the other. Which I have to do, because if I’m going to be staying in this manor, in this city not my own, I had better pull my weight. Also learn to better control my face. Then they won’t ask, and I can get on with my days, which lead into nights of “well earned rest.”

But I’m not resting. All I can do is lie there for ages with a single thought:  _Gogoha._

This is the dozenth letter I’ve written to you. I’ve been keeping them in the bottom of my pack so that the postmoogles, bless them, don’t attempt to do their job and inadvertently put you in danger. When this is over, I swear I’ll find you and put them all in your hands myself. 

Gogoha, my love, my darling. I miss you more every minute. I feel your absence with every breath of icy air, every step that crunches through the snow. Necessity has forced me to abandon you for gods know how long, and I hate it. I want nothing more than to run to your arms and never leave them again.

I pray that, when the time comes, you can forgive me.

~L

* * *

 

_My dearest Gogoha:_

I said it was cold here in Ishgard, but truth be told- it’s not just the weather that makes it so. This is a nation that has been at war so long it knows naught else but to close down and keep to its own, the better to survive. It seems like every person here is an island unto themselves, even those with families or friends. 

You should have seen the way folk looked at us when we first set foot here. The suspicion in their faces could have been seen for malms; it was and is thick in the air. Time has not done much to improve our reputations… such is the nature, it seems, of those who have lost too much for too little gain. 

Tataru is determinedly cheerful in the face of all this, though, and Alphinaud is keeping up his preferred air of wisdom-beyond-his-years. Our host has been unfailingly kind and pleasant, too. So you see it isn’t all doom and gloom here.

Still… in the bedchamber which has been set aside for me, I have dubbed one of the (several) pillows ‘Gogo.’ I find it helpful when I am attempting to fall asleep. (If only I could attach a black oldrose… but no, that might be going too far. Besides, one does not sleep with flowers in the hair.) I hold it, and close my eyes, and imagine you here- just as warm and sweet as the last time I saw you, feeling your heartbeat against my own. Of course it isn’t the same. But it does soothe the ache of missing you, just a little…

I know you cannot answer this letter, destined as it is to join its siblings at the bottom of my pack… but I hope you feel me, sending my love to you through the aether. 

~L

* * *

 

_My dearest Gogoha-_

_Tonight all I can think of is the first time we kissed. Well, really it was I who kissed you, but still- first is first, no matter who initiated._

_We were in Coerthas- had run into each other passing through the Observatorium- sat and talked for ages. Yes, it was cold, but I swear to every one of the Twelve that I hardly felt it. Because you were there. Lighting up the whole snowy day in your coat of light green and bright gold._

_Finally we could put off parting no longer, and you got to your feet. Said your farewells, put up a hand to give a short wave. And I briefly lost my head- instead of returning your goodbye, I said your name…_

_and you said, “Yes?”_

_and I leaned in and kissed you before I knew what I was doing._

_I remember scrambling backward in the next instant, being completely mortified at myself, worrying that I’d ruined everything between us in one fell swoop. Sat there petrified, babbling apologies, almost got up and left myself._

_Til you stepped in and finally spoke._

“Kiss me again,” is what she said to me,  
a miracle I dared not hope to see-  
or rather hear.  
“Kiss me again,” said she,  
the sound of each word landing like a spear,  
making my eyes well up so suddenly  
I could not hope to find her but by ear.  
“Kiss me again,” she said. “Now, please,” and we  
fell to it as a feast to last the year. 

_(That’s how I wrote about it later. In the diary, you know. Went and lapsed into poetry because nothing else fit.)_

_When I see you again, my love– and by the Spinner, I will see you again– only say the word and I will kiss you until I forget my own name. Til then…_

_~L_


	8. Better than One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help comes when you least expect it.  
> (POV: Sélysette, third-person present tense. Previously posted as two separate stories- 'Better than One' and 'Omission.')

“Here.” 

A couple of gil clatter into Sélysette’s mug, startling her out of a morose slump on the porch of the Coffer & Coffin. She peers blearily up, searching for the source. 

In the glow from the window above her head, she sees she doesn’t have to look far. Her misguided donor turns out to be a Lalafellin woman; a magic user of some sort, judging by the staff. White hair with darker tips, and a worn look round her eyes. 

“Ma’am, I can’t take this,” Sély protests.

“And I can’t really give it, but…” The woman shrugs. Makes to move on. “Sometimes that doesn’t matter.” 

“No, wait! I’m no beggar, I’m just—it’s cooler out here.” Sély jingles her own gil purse… finds it doesn’t jingle so brightly as it might. “Honestly. You can take these back.” 

“They’ve been in your drink now. They’re yours.” 

***  
The woman- Gogoha- will not reclaim her coin, so Sély uses it to buy her a drink of her own. They end up sitting back on the porch, side by cautious side. Sély takes the initiative.

“So… not to pry, but what brings you out here tonight? In such a- generous mood.” 

Gogoha sighs. “Not so much generous as screw-it, I suppose.” She does not elaborate.

Sély tries again. “I’ll d- I’ll drink to that. I’ve been feeling like that for moons.” She prepares to make good on her word. She bought the stupid ale; the least she can do is have a proper draft of it after it’s had coins tossed in and all. 

“You will not drink to that.” 

“Excuse you, yes I will.”

“Then why are you looking at it like you’re about to be sick?”

She plunks it down again, feeling embarrassment rise up the back of her neck. “Well I  _would_ have. Still did, in spirit.” 

Gogoha shoots a sideways glance at Sély, all up and down. “You don’t look like you’ve touched a drop of alcohol in your life.”

“I might as well! Everything’s already gone seven deep, why shouldn’t I drink?” She tips her head back, lets it rest against the wall. “I’m an awful detective and a worse daughter.” 

That sits in the air for a few seconds. 

“I’d say it can’t be as bad as all that, but…” Gogoha takes a swig of her own drink. “well, lately, it can. Cheers.” Beat. “In spirit.” 

They touch mugs.   
***  
“So what has you might-as-well drinking, then?” 

Sély’s turn to sigh. “Wits’ end. My sister ran away a few moons back, and I can’t catch up with her. No matter how I try.”

“That’s rough.” 

“And I just- I have to bring her back, because my parents’ hearts are probably broken beyond repair by now. I don’t know whether I miss her more than I’m cross with her, or the other way around, so I need to find her so I can figure it out, but… ugh. No luck. Especially not with the city like it is right now.” 

“Ugh indeed.” 

Sély thinks the other woman may just leave it there, as seems to be her way, but lo and behold- she continues. 

“I… I have someone like that. That I’m looking for, that I love. That I miss and I’m mad at in equal measure, and I-” a shaky breath- “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

And suddenly Gogoha is crying. Sély watches with alarm as the other woman buries her face in the crook of her arm, shoulders shaking. 

“Oh no. No no, I- is it- I have a kerchief here somewhere…” She searches through her pockets. 

It can’t be the one drink making her weep so. These tears must have been a long time coming. When Sély finally unearths the handkerchief and offers it, Gogoha accepts and presses it to her eyes without hesitation. 

“You, ah… you don’t look like you do that enough,”  Sély says, hesitantly, once the sobbing has quieted down. “Cry when it’s needed, I mean. Not that it’s any of my business.”

“Hmph.” Gogoha sniffs. “Nor was it my business to go blubbering all over you about my problems… Bit late to be worrying about that.” She wrings out the soaked kerchief, holding it up with a wry gaze. “Ah, damn. This looks like it was nice before I wrecked it.”

“Wrecked?” Sély takes the cloth. Examines it. “No, it’s fine. It just needs a wash. But never mind that. Look, er… maybe we can help each other?” 

Gogoha rubs away the last traces of tears with the side of her hand. Squints at Sély. “Help each other…?”

“Well, I know I said I was a terrible detective, but… maybe I just need a partner.” At this, however, the other woman winces. “N-not like that! I- you know what I mean. A teammate. Two heads are better than one, as it’s said.” 

Now a tentative smile. “It’s also said that misery loves company.” 

“Indeed. So… shall we be a company, then?” Sély offers her hand. 

Gogoha takes it. “We shall.”

* * *

There are no windows in the room they have taken, no clear sounds of the Coffer & Coffin coming to life for the day. Yet Sély has been awake for about three bells before Gogoha opens her eyes. She does not care to pin down why. She is too busy thinking that now, at last, her search may be able to move forward. -No, not her search.  _Their_  search.

“Good morning,” she says, when the other woman stirs at last.

Garbled sounds of stretching from beneath the covers, followed by the emergence of a pale head. “Mngh. Morning…”

They breakfast on what odds and ends of food they happen to be carrying. This amounts to bacon bread, a stray apple or two, and- to Sély’s mild alarm- unbrewed coffee beans. It is a most novel thing to watch Gogoha toss a handful in her mouth and crunch them down. She’s still at it when Sély clears away the table and folds her hands. 

“All right, strategy time. First things first: we ought to give each other proper descriptions of the people we’re looking for. I’ll, er… begin,”  Sély adds, since the coffee consumption seems unlikely to cease in the immediate future, and starts rattling off her standard speech. 

Approximately eleven seconds later, the table is covered in half-chewed bits of bean, and Sélysette is thumping Gogoha’s back. “Warden’s rays, are you all right? What is it?”

“Pinch me,” Gogoha wheezes.

“What?”

“I have to be dreaming. Go on, pinch me. - _Ow!_ ”

“Beg pardon, but you did ask.”

“True, but-” Gogoha clears her throat. “Never mind that. The point is, your sister sounds exactly like my… my Livorette.”

Sély hasn’t got anything in her mouth to expel. Instead she simply stops breathing, just for an instant. “Good gods. Of all the happenstances—”

“But you can’t be serious, of course. It’s too impossible.”

Sély is stung. “Impossible? How many Livorettes can there be?”

“Apparently—two. At minimum.”

“Nonsense. I only have one sister, and that’s Livorette.”

Gogoha says nothing, yet the words  _Prove it_  are written all over her face.

Sély throws up her hands, rising to her feet. “What, do you want me to produce a birth certificate? For gods’ sake, why would I lie about my own— _fine_. My sister’s birthday is the eighth sun of the First Astral moon. She drinks carline tea like other folk drink water. She never wears a coat, even if it’s clearly going to rain. She’ll sleep til noon if at all possible. She…” For a second, Sély falters under Gogoha’s burning gaze, but presses on. “She has a birthmark! On the right side of her ribcage. She claims it’s shaped like a star anise, but it really looks more like a splotch that happens to have eight points, and it’s the color—”

“—of caramel,” Gogoha finishes, her mouth pressed into a line so thin as to be near invisible. “You know her all right. But there’s just one problem.”

Sély resists the urge to stamp her foot. “Oh?”

“Liv never told me she had a sister.”

…Sély can physically feel the color draining from her face. The floor seems to rock beneath her feet. She sinks unsteadily back onto her chair. 

Their mother has no children left at home. Their father is doing his level best to be there for her. Here Sély has struck out  _on her own_ at  _seventeen_ to find her romantic reckless fool of an older sister… 

_Slow down. Think_ , she tells herself.  _Livy ran away. Of course she wouldn’t tell folk about her life before. She ran off with her head full of starry dreams, to live as close to a fairy tale as she could. She took up an axe and she didn’t look back…_

And so- by omission- she  _lied._

Sélysette lifts her head, reaches out, and hurls her shoe at the wall as hard as she can.


	9. Letters (part two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I hear 'backstory time'? Well we're getting it anyway, as Livorette's unsent letters continue.

_Gogo:_

I should have told you. 

There is no excuse. There is only what I did and did not say. 

I left my home, my parents and sister, completely behind when I set out to be an adventurer. It seemed the way of the world—the adventurers I met on my road to Limsa Lominsa were largely inclined to keep to themselves, a practice I soon adopted. After all, everyone’s lives were irrevocably changed by the Calamity, in whatever way; at this point it would be stranger to meet one who was not thus affected, even five years on as we are now. (Papa’s garden, ruined. Mama’s grace, withered. My status as the child who could not put so much as a toe right… cemented.)

By the time I reached the city, I was resolved: ask not about others’ pasts, and none will ask about yours. It was liberating, to be out in the world where no one cared who I had been. To be whomever I chose, now. Though of course that only lasted til the Scions invited me into their order… and I found out I could kill primals, and… all of that happened. And everything after. 

Still- there was my life with the Scions, and there was my life with you, and never the twain should meet… only now, of course, the one has led to the loss of the other. 

So much loss. Everywhere I go, loss. Since the moment I left home, it has followed in my wake. I was cruel to leave my family, and crueler to leave you, and if this wretched war of dragons and men is ever ended…I will set things right. 

You shall know all, my darling. In time.

~L

* * *

_Gogo:_ I promised you I would tell all. And so I shall.

Mama did love us: that is the first thing to know. She loved us, and she only wanted the best.

The second thing to know: I was rather a difficult child. I was always wanting to run about, to climb things and make noise; I would rather have spent a day beside Papa, playing and helping to tend the garden, than almost anything else in the world. Mama undertook to teach me gentler ways, hard though the task was: I was a very impatient pupil. (If nothing else, I learned to sit still at a desk and form my letters- ha!)

My sister Sélysette came along when I was four. Right from birth she seemed to be an agreeable, docile girl, and Mama was much pleased with her—believe it or not, she hardly ever cried. The trend continued as she got older, and as Mama tried harder than ever to make me into at least a passably mannered young lady. However, I repeat: she loved us, and tried to ensure that we saw the best in each other. She never scolded us but in private, half the impact of her words achieved by tone of voice alone.

(I shouldn’t have resented my sister. I knew better than to be jealous of her natural talents, and yet… I wished Mama would praise me even half as much.)

The third thing to know: I was sixteen when the visions started, what I would (much) later learn was the Echo. I would walk into a room, maybe pick up an object or catch someone’s sideways glance, and then I would be seeing things I had no way of seeing. Often I would be so startled by what I witnessed that when I came out of my trance, I made uncalled-for remarks (for which I was promptly ordered to apologize, regardless of the reactions I received). I couldn’t explain what was going on, but I knew that my visions were true.

Then, of course, the Calamity happened. All but a single bed of my father’s prized garden was destroyed by fallen debris; our house scarcely fared better. And that was the end of peace in the family.

Mama’s patience with me vanished seemingly overnight. She had sharp words for my every misstep, and if I did not make any she would still find fault. The whole world had gone straight to the seventh hell, but all Mama cared about was my manners…and my visions, which were getting worse.

_(Livorette, sit up. Livorette, pay attention. Livorette, if you cannot set an example for your sister, pray take her as your model. Livorette, no one has such frequent headaches. Livorette, telling tales at your age! Really, it is unbecoming at best and wicked at worst.)_

I forgave her as long as I could. She took care never to scold me when Papa or Sély were nearby, so at least I was spared that embarrassment. I reasoned that with so much else ruined, she was simply trying to keep control over something. It hurt, but I could bear it, so I did.

But… the years went on. Slowly, we were able to repair and rebuild as the world did. Yet my mother’s temper grew no better. If she was frightened by my glimpses into the past, she could not have been more so than I—after all, it was not she whose mind was so often invaded, left throbbing with dizziness and pain and other people’s memories. Still, I had learned to hold my tongue by now; I no longer spoke of what I saw. Instead I tried to focus on other things. 

Things like Papa’s garden.

Papa had dealt with our losses by trying to bring order and at least a bit of beauty back to our lives. He had been a woodcutter for a time, in his youth. Now he went back to that trade, selling or bartering all the logs he could carry. He would return not only with coin, but with food- both for us and the flowers that had lived. (Namely: a bush of Azeyma roses, ringed by lilybells and carlines.) I saw how he’d smile when he watered them, just as he always had, and how even Mama softened when he’d show her how well they were doing. Just a glance at those blooms had become a spot of respite for all of us.

Last year, Third Umbral moon: my parents’ wedding anniversary was approaching. I wanted at least to make Papa smile on the day. I thought of a bouquet to put between his plate and Mama’s, inspired by the much-reduced garden… after all, lilybell and carline grew wild most everywhere, so I wouldn’t have to pick them from home. I made a fair pretty little bunch and asked Sély to lend me one of her ribbons to bind it. Mayhap a token from my golden sister would prevent ill luck for my offering.

But I put my hand to the ribbon and there it was. The sudden pain, the signal of a vision. I had just enough presence of mind to press the flowers into my sister’s hand and flee before it hit.

***

_Sély is four. Mama calls her good girl, sensible girl, praises her for her quiet ways—for not being wild and fanciful like her sister. ‘A child who hasn’t a vexing bone in her body. You never cause me worry, do you? Never a moment’s trouble.’ Sély loves her mother, is glad to bask in her approval._

— _Sély is six, watching Livy, who has climbed to the top of the bookcase and is declaring herself liege-lady of all she surveys. Sély is at once nervous for her and disdainful of her. How silly. Livy could be_ hurt.  _Certainly Sély has never thought of doing such a thing._

_The door of the study opens; Mama is back to see how they are getting on. She gasps in horror and, stepping onto a footstool, lifts Livy down bodily; she exclaims about how dangerous it is to climb the furniture. ‘Why, the wood grain could be damaged, let alone my darling daughter.’_

_‘But the wood is all right, Mama, I was only in my stockings…’_

_‘Even so, darling, even so.’_

_Sély knows a talking-to will come due for her sister later. Children need those in general, Mama says. Especially Livy._

— _The girls’ shared bedroom. At Sély’s insistence, Mama brings down the old fairy tale book one more time, though at ten and fourteen they are far past the age for bedtime stories._

“…The queen remained sad and pondering. ‘What!’ she said, ‘do I really desire a daughter who is to cost me many sighs and tears? Should I not be happier without her?’”

_A shadow crosses Livy’s face, though she does not interrupt._

— _‘Mama,’ Sély asks, ‘don’t you ever talk to Livy like this? To tell her she’s done well and you’re proud of her?’_

_‘Of course, darling.’_

_‘But she looks troubled when she comes back from seeing you.’_

_‘Does she indeed? There’s no pleasing some people.’ A pat on the head that feels like a warning. ‘Not like you, my good girl.’_

—‘ _What is the meaning of this?!’_

_Sély and Livy, freezing in their tracks, turn slowly to look at an incredulous Mama in the study doorway. Both hold their pens by the handle, arms outstretched in the manner of fencers. A spray of ink has landed down the front of Sély’s dress; more drips show on the carpet._

_Mama’s eyes are on Livy already, her jaw set in displeasure. Sély’s stomach twists._

—‘ _Mama,’ Sély begins, ‘it wasn’t-’_

_‘What it looked like, I know, dear,’ Mama cuts in. ‘You needn’t say another word. I know it was all your sister’s idea to waste ink and time.’_

_‘But-’_

_‘Ah, my sweet girl. Such a good heart, to defend a hopeless case like Livorette. But you mustn’t trouble yourself so for one who does not deserve it.’_

_Her stomach twists harder than ever. ‘Mama, it was only a game, and the ink will come out. Couldn’t… couldn’t you forgive it this once?’_

_The air takes on a chill._

_‘…I suppose so,’ Mama says at last. ‘Since you ask. And provided the ink does come out.’_

— _Next morning. Breakfast. Livorette is late, and when she does arrive she looks exhausted._

_‘Livy, there you are,’ says Papa. ‘Are you well?’_

_‘Yes, Papa… I read overlong last night.’ She takes her seat._

_Sély can see her sister’s hands under the table: dry, reddened. Later, she finds the dress in the wardrobe. It is scrubbed threadbare where the ink had landed. Ruined. But it is clean._

—‘ _Mama,’ Sély begins. Hesitates._

_‘Hm? Speak up, dear girl.’_

_‘Mama, I… I’m worried about Livy.’_

_A raised eyebrow. ‘And what about her?’_

_‘I think she might really be ill, Mama. She has more pain lines by the day.’_

_‘Oh, sweet girl, is that all?’ A light laugh. ‘Bless you, that is nothing to worry about. Livorette always was a bit dramatic; she has simply decided to carry on this little game of hers longer than usual.’_

_‘I don’t- think it is a game.’_

_Mama’s eyes turn frosty. ‘Is that so? My word, she’s turned your head. But you must remember, Sélysette: your sister’s antics will bring her to no good end. I should hate to see you give another thought to her tricks.’_

_Sély can hear what is not being said: ‘or else.’  
_

—‘ _Sélysette Claudine. Whatever is that in your hand?’_

_Sély turns slowly around._

_‘Do not hide it in your skirt. What do you have there?’_

_Mama snatches the flask out of Sély’s hand. Opens it, takes a sniff. ‘Cold carline tea… I believe I know where you were going with this.’_

_‘Please, Mama, don’t be angry-’_

_‘Angry? Why, no. Only disappointed. You know very well that your sister’s little cries for attention are not to be indulged.’_

_‘But she can’t sleep. She has been lying there trying to pretend, but I can hear her.’_

_Mama’s smile is cool, withering. ‘So if she must be awake, she will be certain you are as well… and you think to comfort her. You lose sleep, and she will lose all the more of it once the tea passes through.’_

_Sély winces. ‘I know that, Mama… I just-’_

_‘You just… thought you would directly defy my wishes. Thought you would bring comfort to an incurable liar who is being justly punished.’_

_‘Mama, she’s not a liar!’  
_

_She regrets her hasty words when Mama’s hand shoots out to seize her wrist, tight enough to bruise, and pulls her in sharply._

_‘Dear girl. You are young yet, and this is a first offense, so I shall forgive your defiance… this once. Go back to your room now, and do not think of speaking so to me again.’_

***

I lurched out of the vision, gasping, to find myself down on one knee in the corridor. I must have stumbled in the midst of the memories; my knee panged even as my head hurt. But those pains were as nothing when I thought on what I had seen. 

 All this time I had believed my sister to be the golden one, above reproach, safe as Mama’s favorite. That as the elder sibling I naturally came under greater scrutiny. That it made more sense for Mama to find fault with me, if she had to find it at all… but now I saw. Sélysette was no more above reproach than I, in Mama’s eyes… so long as she continued playing the docile lamb.

This was beyond the pale. I could no longer keep silent when my sister (then sixteen herself) was drawing our mother’s ire for the grievous sin of compassion. Papa would have to be told of his wife’s unjust behavior.

Yet it was not so easy as that. Mama was near omnipresent in our house. One could hardly count upon a solid minute alone—and just at that moment, round the corner she came.

“Livorette.” There was something in her tone I could not name, but which put me on edge. “Ladies do not stoop so. Stand up, if you please.”

With as steady a motion as I could manage, I rose to my feet- and, greatly daring, looked her directly in the eye. “Yes… I will stand up. I know what you’ve been telling Sély, Mama.”

“Oh, indeed?”  

I took a step toward her. “You forbade her to believe me, or help me, or even plead to you on my behalf. Because you told her—as you tell everyone—that I am a liar.”

Mama did not respond; she simply regarded me, eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed. I advanced again.

“She doesn’t deserve this from you, Mama. And nor, for that matter, do I—but I can bear it; I have borne it so far. Only tell me why? What have I done? What must I do? If this is about my visions, I cannot help—”

“ _Visions_ ,” Mama repeated, with a scoff. “Here we are with this nonsense again. You do not have  _visions_ , Livorette. You are not a saint, nor a mystic; you are an ordinary girl with a flair for the dramatic and a vulgar habit of spying on those around you. And, it must be said, a remarkable resistance to any type of punishment or correction. If you know anything of my private conversations with Sélysette, it is because you learned it illicitly- whether you pressured her for the information, or simply listened at the door like the sly thing you have become.

“I do not know what you have done,” she continued, “or what on earth has been done to you, that you should have become such a viper in my bosom. But I tell you again, here and now:  _you do not have visions_. I did not raise you to behave thus, and if you persist in your tales, know that they will fall on stone ears.

“Now… you have two choices. You may keep your head down, keep further lies to yourself, and life will go on as before—or you may continue testing me, and learn the error of your ways once and for all.”

I squared my shoulders, straightened my spine. Ignored the lingering pain in my temples. “My ways have not erred, Mama.”

I should have known better.

Ladies, as Mama had told me so many times, do not set their jaws. They do not turn on their heels and walk away from a conversation; at very least, they beg pardon if they absolutely must leave.

Nor do they- before the horrified eyes of their interlocutor- make for the back door, and take up the axe leaning on the wall beside it as they exit.

“Mama? Mama, what are you— _Mama, stop!_ ”

I ran after my mother, leaping to seize her weapon arm just as she raised it above the garden plot. I was as tall as she, and about the same weight, but still I labored to hold her back. Of course she attempted to throw me off, and as we struggled, the darkness prevented our seeing where we trod.

“This—is Papa’s favorite—why would you…” I couldn’t get the rest of the words out, as we staggered this way and that.

“Void-touched little fool—must be brought to your senses!—I  _will_  have my daughter back!”

“Back?! I’m here! I’ve always been here!”

Skirts caught, fabric tore- Mama froze for just an instant, and I wrested the axe from her hands. Stumbled backward, holding it before me.

“I have never… met a voidsent… in my life,” I panted, watching her dim shape for signs of further movement. “I may be cursed, or blessed—only the Twelve can say which. But I am as much myself as I have ever been, whether you believe me or not.”

In the sudden flare of lamps from the house behind us, Mama flashed me a smile- small, glittering. Triumphant. 

Papa and Sély hurried out with lanterns in hand to find us there- me with the axe in my hands, and Mama half-fainting (masterful performance, that) in the ruins of the garden plot. Trampled carlines and crushed lilybells marked the course of our fight. The rosebush alone remained standing, trembling in the night breeze as though in fear of me.

Of course there was nothing I could possibly say—I had been caught with the brightest of metaphorical red hands. Any word of protest would sound like a blatant falsehood. I expected Papa to weep or shout, mayhap even strike me, but it was much worse than that: I watched disappointment settle over him like a lead-lined cloak. He didn’t, or couldn’t, look at me… that hurt worst of all.

***

I think Papa did eventually forgive me, knowing as we both do that plants grow back. He always was a man of few words. But he gave me the journal last Starlight. I cried a little, and hugged him, and promised I would only use it to write of good things- great things, if I could manage it.

I replanted the devastated flowers myself, and after that it was as if the entire incident had never occurred. Buried in silence. For a solid year, I kept to myself- doing odd jobs, putting aside tiny amounts of gil in the most secret places I could think up. (The heels of my boots, the linings of my clothes, etc.) When that year was up, I left with my savings and only one thing more: my hitherto untouched journal.

I don’t know if Sély ever truly believed me to be guilty. Certainly it was both my footsteps and Mama’s that destroyed in the dark- so I am not blameless by any means. But I know now that I should never have left her behind when I went, for what if the Echo came to her too? She would be alone with Mama and her dangerous fears of the unknown… and Papa, whose greatest ire was ever reserved for pests among his precious flowers. For now I can only hope that, if it comes to that, she will strike out as I did and find her way in the world… mayhap even find her way to me.

I didn’t want to be found, when I left. I was lost for a while (as I said before) in the sheer euphoria of freedom. And then, well… then I met the Scions. And you.

Dear, dearest Gogoha. You know everything now, all the truth of my past. And as Nymeia is my witness, I would have you know all my future.

But that is for the Twelve to decide.

~L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines of the fairy tale quoted in the flashback sequence come from the story 'Babiole' by Madame d'Aulnoy, aka Marie-Catherine, Baronne d'Aulnoy. The specific translation I used can be found here, as well as many more of Mme. d'Aulnoy's tales: http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/daulnoy.html


	10. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we return to Sélysette and Gogoha, moving ever closer to their goal.

That was… not Sély’s finest moment. Throwing things like that. Gogoha’s response was to announce her intention to go on a walk; she has been gone for about a quarter bell, giving Sély plenty of time to clear her head (and likely allowing Gogoha to do the same).

She has swept the table clean and gotten the rest of the way dressed by the time the other woman returns. Though Sély’s first instinct is to apologize for her outburst, the way Gogoha marches up to her and comes to a stop- hands clasped in a decisive manner behind her back- indicates that she has something to say. 

“Right. I had some… uncharitable suspicions, earlier. But while it’s true that- since we’re still relative strangers to each other- you have no reason to tell me all the truth of your life, you also have no reason to lie. And I will admit that your kindness to me speaks in your favor.

“I don’t know why Liv didn’t mention you before, but you are essentially the best lead I have, and I- ahem- well, I guess I’m the best lead you have. That is, in terms of personal knowledge about our missing- no. Our Livorette.” (Sély finds this phrasing odd, but leaves it be.) “So I’m sorry I doubted you, and I still want to be teammates.”

Sély starts to think this over, but is interrupted by a sudden loud exclamation from her companion.

“That! That right there!”

“Gyaah- I mean, beg pardon, but what is where?”

Gogoha’s eyes have that intense expression again. “Your- the way you were moving just now, with the hands and the head tilting and- Liv does the exact same thing!”

“She does?” Sély looks down at herself in confusion. “I mean I wasn’t doing anything- particular, that’s just how I think.”

“Yes.  _Yes_. And so does Liv.” Gogoha is nodding feverishly. “Okay. Okay, this is something. Okay.”

“Are you… saying you believe me? About Livorette being my sister?”

That stops the nodding. “I am saying it’s a point in favor of the possibility. I still haven’t ruled out the two of you being classmates, or childhood friends.”

_Well, technically Mama did teach us both, and of course we grew up together…_ But she does not say this. Instead she says, “I see. Very well then, I accept your apology. Teammates?”

“Teammates.”

They shake on it.

***

They set about comparing notes in earnest. Sély summarizes her search prior to their meeting, explaining how she heard often of her sister but never seemed to see her. Gogoha admits that she mostly spent personal time with Livy whenever their respective adventuring schedules allowed—the last such occasion being on Gogoha’s nameday. ( _A lady does not tell her age_ , sounds a faint echo in Sély’s head.)  Sély’s pencil scribbles busily as the conversation goes on. 

_G's nameday- 20th Sun, 6th Astral Moon_  
_Activities: Coffee, beach walk, picnic, L's room at Mizzenmast_

“Did she mention anything unusual? Or talk about work?”

“No… well, not much. Mentioned that the last time she’d been out here was to assist Tataru- one of her colleagues from the Scions.”

“Yes,” Sély says, her voice descending to a murmur as she glances up the page. “The Scions. Currently headquartered in Mor Dhona, or they were until those blue-coated bastards ran riot over the place.”

“The Scions,” Gogoha repeats. “Scattered to the winds, at least according to what I heard at the Quicksand. Missing, presumed either dead or in hiding.”

“Well, they can’t have gotten all of them, can they?”

A bitten lip, a furrowed brow. “I… I actually don’t know that for certain. But I do know Liv was, because, er… she was accused of m- of trying to kill the Sultana.”

“No, that wasn’t her,” Sély says instantly.

“But it was, though.”

“No it wasn’t. That was the Warrior of Light.”

Gogoha gives Sély an incredulous stare.

“What? It was. That’s what I gathered, same as you. The Scions were invited to a feast at the palace, the Warrior of Light supposedly tried to kill the Sultana, and the lot of them fled into the night to avoid capture. That doesn’t mean Livorette was there.”

The stare continues, now accompanied by parted lips. Sély feels the beginnings of embarrassment poking up at the back of her neck.

“Look, they never mentioned her name, right? So it can’t have been…”

Gogoha is slowly shaking her head, though she maintains eye contact. “You’re telling me that you  _don’t know_  what… who Livorette has become?”

The prickling at Sély’s neck rises an ilm or two higher. “People say many things. Doesn’t mean they’re all true.”

A few seconds of silence. Then Gogoha gets to her feet. “Point taken. Are you packed?”

“Ah- yes...” Sély glances over the room to be sure of this. Indeed, nothing of hers is to be seen- save, of course, her pencil and notes, which she quickly gathers up and returns to her bag. 

“Then we’re off.”

“Off? Where?”

“To Mor Dhona, that’s where. And on the way, I’m going to show you something.”

***

They saddle up. They ride north. Through Black Brush, to the Nanawa Mines, to and through the tunnel connecting said mines with Camp Bluefog, where they stop to rest.

“Watch this,” Gogoha tells Sély, sotto voce. Then, pitching her voice a little louder- “So as Livorette was telling me the other day...”

A passing soldier- by his hat, an Immortal Flame- stops.“Did you say Livorette?”

“Yeah. You know her?” Gogoha returns.

“Know her!” A hearty laugh. “As if anyone here could forget the Warrior of Light! Oi, Betyn,” he calls to another man. “You don't happen to know any Livorette, do you?”

“Not just any Livorette!” Betyn responds, and soon there's a group around them chattering away. Apparently Livy made a meal for the soldiers here, back in the days leading up to the assault on Castrum Meridianum. Rallied their spirits, inspired them to go on, with that one simple act. And as they talk, the two terms are clearly interchangeable- Livorette Farouche. Warrior of Light. One and the same.

To these Flames here, anyway. Sély's mind reels.

Gogoha repeats the trick at the Ceruleum Processing Plant, where they hear a similar tale. Again and again, Livy is called Warrior of Light.

“Say, you look like her,” someone says. Sély, still marveling at all of this, forgets that between herself and Gogoha there's only one person to whom such a remark could be addressed—until she's tapped on the shoulder.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” the tapper (a Midlander woman) says, with a little laugh. “But- no, you do. Doesn't she look like the Warrior?”

“Hey, yeah...”

Gaze after gaze turns to Sély, who initially squirms under their collective stare... but then realizes what this means.

“Oh, do you really think so?” she responds, fluttering her eyelashes just a bit.

“Yeah, have a look,” and they pass Sély a hand mirror and a bit of paper- torn from a newspaper or something similar, it seems. It contains part of an article, under a drawing which Sély must admit is rather lifelike... and sure enough, it portrays her sister.

Sély finds herself staring at the picture, finds her eyes welling up just a bit. She hasn't seen Livy's face in—well, technically only moons. Still.

“Oi, I think you broke her,” says the Midlander who started all this. She pats Sély's arm. “Starstruck, eh? It might sound odd to say this, but you really oughtn't be. The Warrior may have done incredible things, and yet- when you meet her, she's just a woman like you or I. Well, more like you than I, ha!”

Sély cannot speak. Gogoha, seeing this, intervenes.

“All right folks, we'd best be getting on- the birds are restless, I think,” gesturing to Etienne and her own steed. (Etienne, bless him, chooses this exact moment to give a trill and dance a little in place.) “Besides, you all have work to do, and we've taken up enough of your time.”

***

The next part of their journey is rather more perilous. Despite the Castrum's having been crushed at the hands of (it would seem) Livorette, the Scions, and countless adventurers, the landscape remains littered with stray warmachina that have yet to cease functioning. This results in several bouts of heated combat when Sély and Gogoha cannot avoid the contraptions' notice.

They make it at last to a set of tracks which- by Gogoha's map- will lead them straight into Castrum Centri. “Ah... does anything _use_ this?” Sély cannot help asking.

Gogoha ponders this a moment. “Not with Meridianum wrecked,” she decides, and spurs her bird on down the iron way. Sély can only hurry after, though her worries are not assuaged.

The rails continue for quite a distance; they are eventually forced to pause for breath once more, even with a chasm looming below them. Gingerly, Sély seats herself beside Gogoha between the iron ridges. Though the wind blows freely round their ears, the great structure does not so much as creak. Truly a marvel of engineering- Garlean or no.

“I suppose,” Sély muses aloud, “it isn't so surprising that Livy did not speak of her life before she became an adventurer. Or after they started calling her Warrior of Light.”

Gogoha nods. “Most don't get into this business to remind everyone of where they came from. They come to make their own names.”

“No, that wasn't what I meant...” Sély pauses, choosing her words. “Back at home, if anything happened that was unusual or- or out of order, it was... not spoken of, once it was over. It's a difficult habit to break.”

This earns a snort.

“I don't see what's so funny.”

“But it's just... I mean... her whole _life_ is 'unusual' now. And 'out of order,'” Gogoha clarifies, held-back laughter warping her words. “Felling gods! Destroying imperials! Almost everything she does, apparently, she could never tell your parents. No wonder she ran away.”

Sély stares into the misty depths. “I don't think that was why. But I don't know the real reason, either.”

_At least, not for sure._

 


	11. And Yet So Far

The end of the tracks comes at last: a massive iron gate in massive iron walls. For a moment Sély feels afraid, until she looks down to see Gogoha’s expression- one of calm assurance.

“You any good with that thing?” Gogoha asks, gesturing at Sély’s spear, and the joke banishes the last of Sély’s apprehension.

“A little,” she answers. Gives Gogoha a grin.

The gates do not open at their approach, of course. But Sély can change that. She launches herself into the air and comes down on the other side, spear first; the guards’ helmets are no match for her descending blade. Using the key that falls from one of their pockets, she opens the way for Gogoha to enter, and with that the battle begins.

***

They arrive in Revenant’s Toll singed, sooty, covered in evidence of their fight but smiling wide. Sély, in particular, thinks her face may just crack in half with the sheer force of her happiness.  _My sister’s not the only one who can destroy imperials._

“We are a  _mess,”_ she laughs. Etienne trills; she pats his neck. “I know, boy, you too. Hey, Gogoha, we should find somewhere to clean up-” 

Then she realizes that both Gogoha and her bird have stopped. The little jennet is fluttering his wings. He seems troubled, and his mistress hardly less so.

“Shh, Sparks, it’s okay…” Gogoha tells him, soft and low. “Good Sparks. Good boy. We’re okay…”

Sély backs up. “Gogoha, what is it?”

“Sparks got spooked,” the other woman answers at a normal volume; then, in an undertone- “Brass Blades. Keep your head down.”

Sure enough, the Blades are stationed all around the Toll. Alarmed, Sély leans in toward Etienne’s feathery ear-hole, obscuring her face as they make their way through. She contrives to rub one cheek and then the other against the sootiest patches of his feathers, whispering soothing nonsense at him. All the while she checks her peripheral vision.

The Blades’ heads are turning. Following her. The soot is either inherently suspicious, or not a good enough disguise.

“Oh, blast it,” Sély coos in a breathy sing-song, still doing her nuzzle-the-birdie routine. “Gogoha, I think they see me, I think they think I’ve gone to the aesthetician…”

“Can he change eye colors too?” Gogoha murmurs back.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been, we better get inside somewhere…”

Did they come here just to get into another fight, right on the heels of the last lot? Are the Blades really going to attack? It may be Sély’s imagination, but several of them seem to be getting closer. She’d only wanted to follow Gogoha’s lead, have another look, see if _anyone here_ knew where Livorette might be. But no, of course the place is crawling with the very people her sister has fled.

At which point she notices the dark-haired fellow who’s walked right up beside them, so quietly as to be inaudible.

“Forgive my presumption,” the man says politely, “but are you by chance the couriers we were told to expect?”

Sély knows a lifeline when she hears one. “Yes! Yes,” she says, and Gogoha agrees.

“You have had some trouble on your way, I see. Please, follow me. I will show you where to take your steeds….”

As their unexpected ally takes the lead, Sély sees the Blades step back to their original positions.

***

The man’s name turns out to be Kasasagi, of the far East; he knows not only Livy, but all the Scions. What is more, he and his countrymen- at the behest of their leader, Yugiri- are even now covertly searching all the realm for the missing heroes.

Most of them, that is. For three are not missing: Alphinaud Leveilleur, Tataru Taru… and, yes. Livorette.

“But where did she go? Where is she?” Gogoha springs to her feet, so frantic that she interrupts Kasasagi’s next sentence before it can even begin.

_A lady does not interject before her turn to speak,_ sounds the familiar voice in Sély’s head. Hush! she orders it, silently.

Kasasagi does not reproach this rudeness aloud; he simply pauses a trifle longer in the wake of the outburst. “The Warrior and her companions have gone northward, under the protection of a lord of Ishgard.”

“Then we must go to this lord.” Gogoha turns as if to march straight out the door without further ado, but Sély puts out a hand to stop her.

“Which lord is that?”

***

So it is that they come to Camp Dragonhead, where Sély’s resemblance to her sister apparently serves to lend credibility to what is otherwise (she must admit) a rather strange tale. Even if this were not the case, Gogoha’s palpable despair at being told that she cannot simply charge across the Steps of Faith into Livy’s arms would melt the hardest of hearts.

Fortunately, however, Lord Haurchefant proves to be a warm, enthusiastic sort of person; he hardly needs melting at all. Seeing how close both women are to weeping from sheer exhaustion, he is at pains to reassure and cheer them up. “You are in luck, Mistress Babiole, Mistress Goha! Dinner will be ready in but a half bell. Would you care to partake?”

Sély glances at Gogoha’s drooping shoulders. “Thank you, Lord Haurchefant,” she answers for the both of them. “That would be most welcome.”

He does not stop there. All through the meal he encourages Sély and Gogoha to recount their exploits, reacting with great interest and sympathy throughout. By the end of it, Sély feels a good deal better.

She thinks her companion has cheered up as well. However, when they retire to a more private room after dinner- the “Falling Snows,” according to their host- for further conversation, it soon becomes clear that Gogoha has merely been biding her time. She turns to Haurchefant, crosses her arms, and gives him an expectant look.

“You wish to hear how Mistress Farouche has fared in the city,” he says. It is not a question.

“Yes,” Sély replies; Gogoha, for her part, does not say a word. Only waits.

So Haurchefant tells them. How she has done all credit to her own name, as well as that of House Fortemps. Helped his elder brother to track down heretics, and his younger brother to escape from a flock of birdmen high in the clouds. Faced down two of the most formidable knights in all of Ishgard to prove the innocence of her friends against said knights’ accusations of heresy. “In short, she continues to be a stalwart ally and good friend. Even as we speak, she is off on yet another mission against the horde—or so says the Lord Commander.”

“But how  _is_  she?” Gogoha asks, and Sély hears the hint of a plea in her tone. “In herself, I mean- her heart…”

Haurchefant considers this. “Well, her spirits were naturally not the highest when first she arrived with young Master Leveilleur. Though she did an admirable job of keeping her head up while we waited on my father’s affirmation of aid. By all accounts, she has since returned to her usual air of calm fortitude. Oh yes- according to Emmanellain, she hardly passed a night in the manor without spending the half of it by the fireside, writing what seemed to be letters.”

Sély and Gogoha share a glance of painful confusion.

“Letters to whom?” Gogoha demands.

_Certainly not to us,_  Sély thinks. For if they had been, the search would not have taken half as long as it has. Surely even Ishgard is not barred to the moogle post.

“That I cannot tell you, for I do not know,” Haurchefant answers, gently. “But my brother did say she often looked serious or wistful as she wrote. Of course, he was also quick to surmise that the writings were addressed to some absent sweetheart.”

Gogoha blushes deeply at this, so that her face seems like to burst into flame.

“Well, perhaps we shall learn the truth when we see her,” Sély says, with a smile she does not quite feel.

***

Lord Haurchefant’s kindness extends still further: he offers to let the pair of them stay at Camp Dragonhead until such time as Livorette returns from her expedition. Neither Sélysette nor Gogoha need to be asked twice. In the meantime, they busy themselves with hunting, gathering and the like—which activities serve as both a means of repaying their host and a vent for their feelings. (Indeed, Gogoha has burnt a few creatures entirely to ash with spells perhaps too strong for the task. When questioned, however, she insists she meant to do precisely that.)

Sély is not sure how she will feel to finally see her sister again. It’s almost six moons, now, since she vanished into the Twelveswood night- yet somehow Livy has done enough in that period for five lifetimes. Sély cannot quite reconcile the facts. First a sibling, then a hero, now a fugitive from Ul’dahn schemes- and fighting in another war not her own. What can she say to a Livorette so changed? What will Livy have to say for herself? Until her name is cleared—until this war is over—she cannot go home… and Sély suspects that she may not wish to, even given the opportunity. Which leaves Sély… gods know where.

For her part, Gogoha seems to be veering between anticipation and dread. At times she will speak of Liv’s return with the stars practically glowing in her eyes; at others she will pace deep grooves in the snow, heedless of either the frigid dampness soaking her to the skin or any well-intended attempts to coax her inside. (Livorette used to pace in just that way, albeit in the garden or hallway back home. Sély wonders if she still does.)

Bells, days, weeks they spend in this way. Still there is no news.

Until, one day, there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice I skipped the proper fight writing there at the beginning. This is because we're not here for the fighting. We're here for the emotional meat. And also, because I am... out of practice at writing fights.
> 
> Also, Gogoha's bird is actually called Sparx, but well... one wouldn't hear that right away, would one?


	12. After All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the long-awaited moment finally arrives.  
> POV: third-person present tense; alternates between Livy and Sély, in that order.

Things have been happening altogether too fast since Livy left home all those moons ago. She thought she’d gotten used to it by now. Yet here she stands, having traveled at a whirlwind pace from Dravania to Ishgard, to western Thanalan, to Ul’dah itself… and now to Revenant’s Toll. Her head is spinning with more than just the aether lag. 

The Sultana is alive. The traitor Braves have fled. Raubahn is reinstated and their names are  _clear_ and… and…

“Livorette,” Yugiri says, just as Livy is on the point of leaving the Rising Stones. “A word.”

Livy turns back, slowly, hiding her impatience. She has a mission of her own to carry out before she does anything else, and it cannot wait much longer. “Yes?”

“I have a message- from your friend Lord Haurchefant, by way of Kasasagi. He wished me to tell you that you have visitors awaiting you at his camp.”

This takes a moment to sink in. “Visitors? Plural?”

“Yes. Two, to be exact. They have traveled long to see you.”

_Oh, Spinner’s treadle._  Livy decides this detour is best finished sooner than later.

\--

The wind seems to kick up precisely in time with the rush of Sély’s blood as she processes the words that have just fallen from Lord Haurchefant’s lips. Livorette is back, as of today. In Revenant’s Toll. And soon- in a matter of bells or less!- she will be  _here_ , in the flesh. 

“She is on her way back to the city, of course, but with luck your Doman friends shall reach her first. If not, I have sent word to both my manservant and my father’s to relay your presence.” Haurchefant beams. “The wait is nearly over, friends. Take heart!” 

Sély and Gogoha spend several minutes being overcome with all manner of emotions- excitement, disbelief, joy… When they have finished with that, however, they almost simultaneously come to a very important realization: there ought to be an order to these reunions.

“Now when she gets here, she’ll probably see you first,” Gogoha says. “Which is only right, I mean- you  _have_ spent much longer looking for her than I have.”

But this will not do; Sély knows her fairy tales, and knows the importance of True Love.  _Journeys end in lovers meeting_ , as the song goes. “Nonsense,” she protests, “you ought to see her first. She’s probably been sick with missing you all this time. Besides, I haven’t exactly let her know I followed her out on the road… gods know how she’ll take that. She needs you first, to shore her up.”

Gogoha raises a brow. “So not only did you not know she’d become a hero, but she doesn’t know you’re an adventurer? I never met such a pair for keeping secrets.”

“That’s beside the point. The point is, Gogoha, you should greet her first.”

“And I say  _you_ should.”

They lose at least a bell and a half going round and round in this way. Haurchefant cautiously intervenes by saying that the Falling Snows is all made up for the meeting, and would the two of them like to continue their discussion there?

\--

The snow today is uncommonly… feisty, Livy decides is the word. She and poor Percinet have an awful time getting through it. By the time they struggle through the south gate of Dragonhead, they’re both positively frosted. She takes a bit of extra time getting him settled in the stables, brushing the flakes off him. She still doesn’t intend to be here long, but maybe she’ll take a little longer than she needs. Crossing the Steps in this is going to be a nightmare.

At least Haurchefant’s greeting is as warm as always. “Ah, Livorette! Excellent!”

“Thank you… I made it in the end.” She can’t help smiling. He has a way of making even the most awful journey worth it. “I heard there were folk here who wanted to see me?”

He stands from his seat. “Indeed. Your guests await you within the Falling Snows.” Then he notices something. “Oh, your cap is dripping- I shall fetch you a dry one, my friend, ‘twill take but a moment.”

“Oh- that’s all right,” Livy says hurriedly, “I hardly noticed it myself. I’ll just go- it’s only round the corner, after all, and there is a fire in there as well. I can dry it while I chat.”

Haurchefant looks as though he wishes to argue, but he does not. “That is true. Well then, my friend, you know the way- shall we?”

“We shall.”

\--

It’s a standoff. Gogoha and Sélysette have planted their feet, staring each other down from either side of the fireplace. Both refuse to claim the right to Livorette’s first greeting.

“This is ridiculous,” Sély says, for the umpteenth time. “I can wait.”

“So can I.”

“But she’s expecting  _you_.”

“And you’re her- her… You’re hers, okay. Her cousin or her friend or whoever, but you’re still  _hers_ -”

“On second thought,” Sély snaps, temper flaring, “perhaps I should go first after all. Just to settle your infernal doubts about whether I am or am not Livy’s own flesh and blood.”

“I’m  _trying_  to be nice!” the other woman snaps back. “And to thank you!”

That throws Sély off. “… Thank me?”

“Yes!” 

She punctuates this with clenched fists and an angry stamp… all right, jump. A hard jump, with both feet. On anyone else it would have been a single-footed stamp. But Sély is forced to abandon this train of thought when Gogoha speaks once more.

“Look, you’re my friend now too, okay? You offered your help and you stood by me when you didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. And more importantly, you stood by Liv. So I want to thank you for that. Whatever else happens.”

All Sély’s exasperation ebbs away in a sigh. She gives a half-smile. “Well, in that case… you’re welcome, but I must thank you too. For taking the word of a complete stranger even as far as you have. For making the road to this point less lonely.”

“Teammates,” Gogoha says. Cracks a smile of her own.

“Teammates,” Sély repeats, and shakes her head. “Listen to us, carrying on as if this were goodbye. Why should it be so?”

“…I can’t say for sure,” Gogoha admits. “But I do know that as soon as Liv steps into this room, everything will change. Again.” 

There is a rattling at the door.

\--

It takes Livorette all of three seconds back outside to decide that Haurchefant is right. Her cap is far too wet now to be aught but a discomfort.

“Go on ahead, my friend,” he tells her, taking the sopping thing from her hand. “I shall join you directly.” 

“Right. Er, whom did you say these people were, again…?” 

“Oh, I think you will be glad to see them,” and Haurchefant practically scampers back into the fortress. 

If Livy didn’t know better, she might think he was up to something. 

The guard asks, as he always does, whether she wishes to enter the intercessory; she nods her assent. The door handle rattles as loudly as ever, and Livy realizes she is nervous. 

“There you are, madam.” 

“Thanks.” She takes a breath. Runs her hands through her hair, wincing at the chill of it- ugh. Snowmelt. She badly wants to just shake it all dry, but that won’t do in front of unknown quantities; she settles for flicking the water discreetly off the ends of her fingers as she steps inside.

“Hello,” she starts. “Awful weather, isn’t it? I hope you haven’t been waiting… long…” 

There by the fire is a face she never thought to see again—or at least, not now. Flaxen hair, in two braids wreathed round her head. Quiet eyes the color of cognac. A touch more eye makeup than Livy remembers, and some dark color on the lips. Still, the girl- no, woman, before her is unmistakable.

\--

The sound of the door shutting is loud, but Sély thinks her heartbeat is louder. Livorette is staring at her, face gone pale, eyes huge and dark. Her hair really is that short- the drawing from the newspaper did not lie. She looks older now, somehow: it shows in the set of her shoulders, or perhaps the faint lines at her brow. Being the Warrior of Light will do that, Sély supposes.

“S… Sélysette!”

And there’s that voice, and Sély is across the room like a shot to seize her sister’s hands, and nothing else matters. For a few seconds, they’re both talking at once. 

“You’re here!” 

“ _You’re_ here!” 

“But how did you-” 

“I know! I did it!” 

“Good lord, is that your grip?” 

“Speak for yourself, you’re crushing my fingers!” 

“These calluses-” 

“ _So_  unbecoming!”

They both dissolve into laughter, which puts an end to the babbling.

“But seriously,” Livy says, once they’ve subsided, “we have to talk. Were they awful to you, when I went? How have you been? How are you  _here?_  Tell me everything!” 

“Oh, well,” Sély replies. “That’s a long story, all of which I promise to tell you- later. The short version is, I had help.”

Behind her sounds a muttered complaint- something like “Right, of course, bring out the height jokes.” 

With great difficulty, Sély makes herself release Livorette and step out of the way. The moment belongs to Gogoha, now.

\--

“Gogoha…” Livy’s lips form the name, but no sound comes forth. She takes a step or two forward. Then her legs give out, and she crashes to her knees on the stone floor. 

Gogo is visibly trembling- more like a lilybell than ever, as her eyes grow bright with tears. Livy wants to reach for her, to spread her arms as wide as they will go and invite her darling in, but she knows she has no right to assume she will be well received. She forces her hands (which had begun to rise without being told) back down to her sides, and bows her head. 

Those sweet familiar steps sound lightly on the floor as they approach. A hand cups the side of her face, and Livy cannot help but lean into it. 

“Liv-” oh Spinner’s grace, the sound of her name in Gogo’s voice. “ _Livorette_ ,” and she dares to look up again. 

One glance into those welling purple eyes and Livy’s tongue is unfrozen. “Gogoha, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave you! I wanted to tell you when it happened, but I couldn’t—it wasn’t safe—and you must have been so  _worried_  and I’m sorry—”

At which point Gogoha seizes her collar and yanks her into a breath-snatching kiss. Those darling arms wrap round Livy’s neck; hot tears bathe both their faces as Gogo half-sobs against her lips. She tastes like mint and salt and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will likely end up writing an epilogue, but there we are!


	13. Convincing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost as if the weather itself wants them to have this time together.

Livorette, Gogoha and Sélysette have been clustered round the table, deep in conversation, for at least a half bell when the rattling of the door and the wafting scent of cocoa signals a new arrival. Livy is the first to spot him; upon doing so, she leaps to her feet.

“Lord Haurchefant, you mummer in knight's clothing!” she exclaims, shaking her finger. “Not a word, not _one word_ of warning!”

Haurchefant's wide-eyed attempt at an innocent expression is rather spoiled by the satisfied smile below. “Why Livorette, whatever do you mean? Did I not say you would be glad to see them?”

“ _This man_ ,” and Livy shakes her finger at him again before turning to the other two, “did not so much as mention your names! Only told me to go on ahead while he fetched me a dry cap. And he _knew_ it was you two all the time!”

“Really, Lord Haurchefant…” Sély joins her sister in a solemn headshake; Gogoha facepalms with a faint _smack_.

Haurchefant shrugs, still smiling. “Well, I did not lie- here, let me put these down.” He deposits the four steaming mugs he has been carrying, then pulls the said headgear from his pocket and hands it to Livorette. “Your own shall be dry soon enough. Now tell me, are you truly cross with me for my little surprise?”

She throws up her hands, but then reaches to pull him into a one-armed hug. “Next time you plan to give me heart failure, at least pad the floor first. I may have cracked my kneecaps.”

“Good heavens! We cannot have that. I shall remember it for the future, my friend.”

***

The snow has upgraded from “feisty” to “malicious” by the time they return to the fortress proper. No one shall cross the Steps this evening. But it is as well; Cid is still working on those manacutters, and he will perhaps appreciate the extra time to complete them.

Livy knows she ought to rest, but it is impossible. Even if she were in the mood to sleep, neither Sély nor Gogo seem to want to let her out of their sight. The three of them spread their bedrolls out by the fireplace and chat quietly as the bells go by. Eventually, however, Sélysette's eyes do begin to droop, and she nods off soon afterward... leaving Livy and her darling still awake.

True, there is an actual bed in the room- Haurchefant having let the girls use the same chamber he had given to Livorette herself once upon a time. But Sély looks so content in her fireside slumber that it seems an unkindness to wake her for anything just now.

“There,” Livy whispers, drawing a blanket over her sister. “Warm and cozy.”

She and Gogo slip over to the bed, pausing only to remove their shoes before getting under a blanket themselves. It is far chillier here, even though the fire is a mere five fulms off. They do not speak for a time, but simply hold each other: Gogo hides her face in Livy's shoulder, warming her cold nose against the side of her neck, while Livy wraps the smaller woman snugly in her arms and draws up her knees to curl almost completely around her (feeling rather like a cat).

“Funny,” she says at last.

“What is?”

She drops a kiss on Gogo's hair. “I spent- so many nights, where I could hardly breathe for missing you. All the letter-writing in the world could only relieve half the ache. And I'd lie there thinking, _if only Gogoha were here... maybe I could sleep._ ” She laughs, softly. “And now you are here, and I daren't even shut my eyes- in case you're gone when I wake up.”

Gogo nuzzles in closer. “I'm not so certain I am awake, just at present. I mean, on the one hand the stone's not in my chest any more-”

“Stone?”

“That's what it was like, all the time you were gone. Like a stone in my chest, weighing me down. And it'd only go away when I was dreaming about you. So it's possible I'm dreaming, you know.”

“Oh _Gogo_.” Livy cannot help hugging her tighter for that, just for a second.

“Agh!- all right, maybe I'm not.”

Livy gives her another kiss on the hair, apologetic. “Sorry to wake you, then.”

Gogo wriggles backward, sits up to look her in the face. “I only said maybe. I still need a bit of convincing.”

Morning finds them cuddled close, their faces mere ilms apart on the pillows... sound asleep at last.

 


	14. The Farthest Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt the regularly scheduled program in order to present- Starlight date! A date that brings the whole fic rating up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: Livorette, first-person present tense. Slightly out of continuity with the main story.

My Gogoha never asks for presents, but I highly enjoy surprising her with them now and again. It is the least I can do, being that she herself is the gift that keeps on giving. So for our first Starlight Celebration together, I’ve planned something special: I shall be her (ahem) personal retainer for the day, dressed entirely for the part. I’ve got it all—the stockings, the gloves, the skirt and dress shoes and lace-collared coatee (those latter three dyed a fine deepwood green). Admittedly my pearl jewelry and white oldrose hairpin are not standard for the costume, but it’s only in fun, after all.  

At least it starts that way. Seeing Gogo’s eyes go wide, and her smile turn from surprise to appreciation, when we meet in Old Gridania. Hearing her giggle when I bow and explain that I am at her service, Madam Goha. Handing her a small parcel and asking if Madam is prepared for a short excursion; leading the way to the secretive peddler where she exchanges the elixirs in said parcel for two glowing minions—one silvery-white as the moon, the other golden as the sun. (Neither, of course, can hope to outshine the stars in her eyes.)

Then she decides she wishes to continue browsing the markets back in Limsa, so off we go. I trail a step or two behind her as she pretends to seriously examine almost every stall, a laugh hovering round the corners of her mouth all the while.

“Hmm,” she says in mock consideration, poring over trinkets. “Could you carry a few ponzes of these, do you think?”

“If Madam wishes me to,” I reply, half-bowing. I’ve got a giggle or two of my own fighting to get free, but I hide them in a cough. Mustn’t break character.

Still, Gogo has a bit of a gleam coming into her eye, and I have a feeling I know what she might be about to say. Just as she opens her mouth, however, a voice behind us exclaims “Gogoha! How  _are_ you?”

The speaker darts around my legs to shake her hand- a Lalafellin woman with hair of a rather glaring shade of yellow, pulled into a shocky ponytail that sprouts from her head like a bird’s tail feathers. She chatters and natters about this and that, driving the both of us slowly mad.

“…and by the way,” the woman- Rinana- continues, “ _well-chosen_  retainer! The Warrior of Light model, eh?” She leans in with almost audible eyebrow waggling, dropping her voice. “Fantastic view, if I do say so myself.”

Gogo does not respond to this aloud- instead her cheeks turn the faintest pink, which only deepens when the other woman gives a peal of laughter at the sight.

“Aahaha! That’s our Gogoha- always so demure! You haven’t changed a bit in all these years.” She turns to me and confides, “She used to get so  _red_ whenever we’d get to girl talk- even just about kissing. We teased her to bits, poor thing!

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she says, turning back to my increasingly flushed dear. “I’m sure you have a thousand things to do today. Lovely to see you! And…  _have fun_ ,” she adds, dropping a wink over her shoulder, before vanishing into the crowd.

If anything warrants breaking character, this does. I get to one knee and ask lowly, “Gogo? You all right?”

She takes a deep breath through her nose. Lets it out gradually. “I… I’m fine. Annoyed, but fine. Can we, um- can we go to the Mizzenmast now instead of later?”

“Of course-”

“No, wait, what if she’s there… then again, dear  _Rina_  always considered herself a cut above the kind of folk who came to a place like the Drowning Wench. Self-styled high class, that one. Still- ah, sod it. Let’s just get room service.”

* * *

We return to character as we enter the Wench, though I must give a few stealth nods to Baderon and the staff, who look surprised to see me dressed as I am- that is, with not a sliver of an axe or a scale of armor to be seen. Gogo parks herself at a table and waits whilst I approach Mytesyn and make our arrangements.

I should not perhaps be surprised when he sets us up in what was always my usual room. The dinner is delicious: La Noscean toast, of course, along with grilled dodo, and pastry fish for dessert. When we’ve done with it, Gogo’s earlier discomfort seems to have subsided. (I still harbor mild curiosity as to how she knew that woman, but I don’t ask. “Dear Rina” has been quite trying enough already.) 

We sit together in one of the armchairs—well, I sit there, and Gogo immediately takes up her preferred spot on my lap. Her poufy hat with its white pom-pom has been hung by the door; she rests her pale head against me, and I hold her gently.  

“ _Gods_  I’ve missed this…” she sighs. 

“Being here, you mean?” I flick a hand at our surroundings.

“No, this. Here.” She pats my thigh. And then my arm and side for good measure. “Haven’t had nearly enough of it lately.” 

I can’t help a little laugh. “Nor shall you, I sometimes think.” 

“You think correctly.” 

“A regular addict, you are.” 

“Oh yes. Nothing to be done about it.”

But she’s giving me a look as she says it, gazing up just so from under her bangs, in a way that makes my heart skip. “Nothing, eh,” I breathe. “Are you so sure of that… madam?”

Her eyes go a touch darker, and I know I’ve struck a good chord; I especially know it when she climbs to her stockinged feet, when she puts her hands on my shoulders to look me in the face. “Bold of you to question me,” she purrs. “Very bold indeed. But now that you mention it…” 

 Next moment she’s pinned me to the chair back, her mouth on mine; I can still taste the sugary apple from the pastries in her kiss. The whole length of her is flush against me, so close that the little dangling puffballs on her top are trapped between us without a chance to tickle. One arm anchors her as it wraps around my shoulder, her hand hot through the lace of my collar; its opposite number is busy a bit lower down, flirting with my neckline. Fingers slipping under the edge to caress and tweak, to pull and pinch. She seems to be trying to push it down—even further than it already is—but to no avail, at which point she leaves off her teasing and breaks the kiss.

“I need- how do you-”

“The- the clasp,” I whisper, hoarse. “Here, on the front,” and I undo it.

“And this—this—” her other hand fumbling round the back of my neck.

“Oh,” and I unhook that as well. I remove it, intending to set it carefully aside, but next instant this is forgotten as Gogo sets to work on the freshly exposed skin—biting, licking, sucking—all the things she knows will turn me to a panting, writhing mess. Her mouth is hot and wet and everywhere, taking her time on each new spot of contact. She winds her fingers into my hair and tugs until she has kissed her way too far down to comfortably continue, and then she rakes her nails over my shoulder as her face draws level with my chest.

For a moment she is still, as if catching her breath. I barely hear her say something that sounds like “So beautiful…” I would ask her to repeat it, except she leans forward, and I’m helpless again as she captures my nipple in her gorgeous little mouth.

“ _Gods_ , Gogo,” I hiss, in between gasps. “Oh-  _oh-_ oh,  _yes,_ haaaahh yes…” She’s going from one to the other, swirling her tongue, even using her teeth from time to time. I am so lost in this that I don’t notice where her hands are going, until she finds the button at the side of my hip and works it open.

“Lift up for me,” she whispers, and we pull down my skirt and smalls almost at the same time.

She has to slide to the floor to get it all the way off, of course; I kick it away before she takes hold of my knees. With those dainty, deadly hands, Gogoha parts my legs.

“Look at you… you’re so wet, Liv. So very, very wet.”

“Yes,” I say, breathless. “For you.”

“For  _me_? My goodness.” Her hands skim my thighs, up over the stockings, toward my hips.

“Mmhmm…”

“Whatever should I do with such a gift,” she muses, moving ever closer. “So tender, so warm… ah yes, I know.”

_There—_ there, at last, she lowers her head and devours me. I whine and whimper, clutching at the arms of the chair as her tongue caresses my folds in slick strokes. Slow, then fast, sometimes dipping in between, she savors me for long ecstatic minutes. Each time I think I am about to finish, she pulls away, letting the edge slip out of reach before she resumes her ministrations.

“Go _goha,_ ” I half sob after the third round of this. “Please… Please, I can’t…”

“Poor thing,” she coos, and continues.

But this time she doesn’t stop; she seals her mouth between my legs and stays there, working her tongue faster than ever, rubbing little circles round my clit with her finger. Round and round and yes,  _yes—_

“Gogo, Gog _ohh, aaaah,”_ and I finally peak, hands in a white-knuckle grip on the chair, my breathy cry giving way to a soundless keening as I ride out the waves of my release.

When I open my eyes again, my whole body limp with relief, Gogo’s looking at me with an expression somewhere between tenderness and smug satisfaction—leaning rather heavily toward the latter. Hard to describe. But one thing is certain: at this moment, my Gogoha is the very farthest thing from demure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now, officially, the most explicit thing I've ever written. Phew!...


	15. Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You remember that spot?"
> 
> "Of course I do."
> 
> In which Livy remains a giant sap, and Gogo is somehow still surprised by this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still present-tense, just third-person this time. And for a bonus, it was inspired by actual events!

_**Sixth Sun, Third Astral Moon** _

“I don’t suppose,” Gogoha says, “that you’re going to tell me what’s got you bouncing like a spriggan at Hatching-Tide.”

They are walking through Limsa as evening begins to fall, their boots steady on the whitewashed streets. The wind off the water is bracing cold as always, the clouds are starting to turn pale gold with the approach of sunset, and indeed- Livorette is positively walking on springs.

“You’ll see in a moment,” she replies, as they approach the Octant.

The place is bustling, of course, with adventurers and locals alike. Livy and Gogoha slip through the crowds and up a sloping walkway to a higher level, where they find a bench from which to overlook the goings-on. As she cranes her neck, the Elezen’s dark blue-gray eyes appear to be searching for something.

“Gogo,” she says, pointing. “See that spot just- there?”

“Where?”

“Right there—by the entrance to Hawker’s Alley, the steps near the tree…”

Gogoha, standing on the seat beside her beloved, squints in the direction of the pointing hand. “Right where that Highlander fellow is sitting?”

“Yes.” There’s a smile in Livy’s voice. The streetlights are starting to come on; the sunset is a riot of pink and yellow against the fading blue. “Glad I got us here before it was dark. You remember that spot?”

Gogoha is silent a moment, thinking. Then she turns abruptly to face her dear. “You- do I remember?! Of course I do.”

* * *

_**Sixth Sun, Third Umbral Moon – some years ago** _

_Another sunny Limsa day. Or at least Livy supposed it must be to the locals. It was only her second day here, and even after the long moons of travel the sheer unobstructed sunlight still dazzled her eyes. The fact that all the pavement was blazing white didn’t help._

_So she looked up instead, as often as she could. She watched signs swing and banners flap in the wind, let her ears fill with the rush of the waves and the cries of birds. There were trees, here and there- but little ones in raised beds, grown more for ornamentation than anything; this was a city that lived on the water. A city made of stone and creaking timber, of sails and ropes and salt. A far cry from the mossy, leafy paths of home…_

_Good, she thought._

_She was looking for the way to the Marauders’ Guild. It was supposed to be on what they called the upper decks, but somehow or another here she was at the aetheryte plaza again. She cautiously lowered her gaze to scan the crowd; Baderon had said there was usually a Yellowjacket on duty around here if she ever needed help, and she was going to need a better set of directions._

_Ah yes, there, across the way. A Midlander woman- or maybe a Miqo’te? At any rate the person was wearing a uniform jacket in that distinctive, eye-watering bright yellow, only intensified by the midday light. Livy tried to fix her eyes on the soldier’s helmet and began to make her way over—_

_—only to miss her footing on the steps and fall._

_With her eyes preemptively screwed shut against the light and the forthcoming impact, it took Livy a moment to realize that she had not actually hit the ground. It took her another moment to register that she had, in fact, landed on something much softer, and that a cool shadow had fallen over her face. Cautiously, incredulously, she un-knit her eyelids and blinked._

_A woman’s face was staring down at her: a rounded face, with a dot of a nose and a little dark mouth, dominated by two large liquid eyes. Long ears that narrowed to delicate points rose on either side; her hair was whiter than the pavement, darkening at the tips as though dipped into an inkwell. And as all these things resolved before Livy’s wondering gaze, she could not fail to notice how the sun- shining relentlessly behind her rescuer’s head- resembled naught less than a halo…_

_At which point the woman spoke, breaking the spell._

_“Ah… what the fuck?”_

_“Oh- oh gods, I’m so sorry,” Livy gasped, scrambling to find her feet. “Are you okay? Did I miss you with the axe? I didn’t mean to be so clumsy—are you sure you aren’t hurt? I—ow!” as she landed haphazardly on one elbow. There was a scrape of metal on stone, which told her that her weapon had in fact been facing away from the woman; praise the Spinner for that mercy. “No, never mind that, it serves me right, gods I’m sorry…”_

_Having wrestled herself into a kneeling position, she looked up again and felt immediately worse. For the woman was a Lalafell, no more than two or three fulms tall. Her caster’s robes ended mere ilms above the ground; the silver earrings she wore looked as though they’d fit snugly over Livy’s thumb. Here she’d been, minding her own business, only to get a whole six-fulm-two bundle of gawkish backwoods Elezen dropped practically on her head._

_And she was beautiful._

_Livy found herself unable to make another sound. Faced with this, her rescuer- or was it victim?- spoke a second time._

_“Okay, first of all, I’m perfectly all right.” (Her low, pleasant voice went straight to Livy’s spine.) “But second of all, I’ll mind what I want to mind. And I can see you didn’t fall on purpose, so I’m not going to smite you or anything.” She paused, looking Livy over. “…You don’t believe me, do you.”_

_To which Livorette, dazed, could only give a faint shake of the head._

_The woman sighed, putting fingers to her forehead. “Oh, don’t just sit there, I’ll start thinking you’re the one who’s hurt. Look, you want to go sit down? As in, sit on something besides your heels? -Right, that’s a nod. Come on then…”_

* * *

Above them, stars have almost overtaken the dusk. The crowd below has become a raucous bunch of silhouettes in the aetheryte’s gentle glow.

“My hero,” Livorette says dreamily. “So lovely you rendered me speechless.”

A little sputtering laugh comes from Gogoha. “No, that—no. Come on. You were just hideously embarrassed.”

“Well yes, but  _then_ your loveliness rendered me speechless.”

“I—” Gogo just sputters now. “Someone could hear you!”

“All right, all right,” Livy laughs, pulling her love closer. “In that case, I’ll speak more softly.”

There is a slow inhalation beside her. “Did you bring me here only to make me combust in front of the Twelve and everyone?”

“No…” Livorette reaches down into her pack, finds the edge of a soft bundle and draws it out. “I brought you here because I have something for you.”

“You what?!”

_Someone will hear you_ , Livy does not echo. Instead she grins. “Happy early anniversary! I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“But—but I—” Gogo opens the present halfway and stops. “I… am not opening this here. Even if it isn’t what I think it is.”

“Shall we go along to the Wench, then?”

Twenty minutes later, safely ensconced in Livy’s usual room, Gogoha removes the last of the wrappings. Shakes out the softness within. Holds it up to the light.

For one suspended second there is complete silence.

Gogo slowly lays the white dress out on the bed, then just as slowly puts her hands to her face. Over her face, in fact: her fingertips spread along her brow line, her palms forming a bubble over her nose and mouth. “Oh…dear… gods. You did  _not_. You… you…”

“You like it?” Livy smiles.

For answer, Gogoha launches into a stream of intense yet delighted profanity, her face going redder and redder. Among the more printable phrases are “I can’t bloody  _believe_  this,” “godsdamn gorgeous” and “you moonstruck mantis…!” By the end of it all she’s collapsed into Livy’s embrace, panting and smiling, still occasionally thumping her thigh with a half-hearted fist.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”


	16. Lingua Volgare - pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's never going to be the right time to ask certain questions. So their anniversary is as good a time as any. (Inspired once more by actual in-game events!)
> 
> POV: Gogoha! Third-person limited, present tense.

**_~_ Prologue _~_**

_We’ve been together for—gods, for ages now. Makes me dizzy to think about it. About her: my sweet, headstrong, ridiculously romantic Liv, who talks a mile a minute in the height of her feelings and is perfectly sincere about every word… no matter how much I might threaten to combust on the spot._

_But this time. This time. I’m going to turn the tables. I’ll be the one who makes her blush. After that stunt with the dress, my honor as a lover demands it—and there’s really only one thing I can possibly do to outmatch her._

_If she’s asked me to marry her once, she’s asked me a dozen times… per week, in her moonier moments._

_But this time, Livorette will be the one who is asked._

* * *

  _Sixth Sun, Third Umbral Moon_

It’s too hot in here.

At least, Gogoha thinks so. The Gold Saucer is warm at the best of times; being out in the midst of the Sagolii, it can hardly be helped. But of course today is the beginning of the annual Make It Rain Campaign, and even more people than usual have descended upon the place in a rush to ride, gamble and play themselves sick. So… hot. It’s hot.

She hadn’t thought they’d be spending  _today_  here, of all days: the anniversary of their first meeting, six years ago. But Livorette had gotten that look on her face, with her eyes all sparkling excitement and an eager tilt to her mouth, and Gogoha had given in without a second thought. Very few things—sapient or no—can resist that face; Gogoha suspects it might have been honed by making flowers bloom.

So here is Gogoha, all done up in celeste-green dyed gear from her silk spider lily wreath to the tops of her shoes, following her long-legged love through the Saucer’s gaily lit halls. Livorette is even taller today, thanks to the wedge heels on her thigh-high leather boots, which she has (bizarrely) elected to pair with the thick white sweater that was Gogo’s most recent Starlight gift. Complete with fluttering pink scarf over her shoulders. Even considering the tiny shorts hidden below the hem of said sweater, Gogoha cannot understand how her dear isn’t outright roasting with every step.

“Next event is this way!” Livy calls with a grin and a little pirouette, like the giddy gazelle that she is.  _Ridiculous._  Gogoha  quickens her step to catch up.

* * *

 Well, it is even hotter now. The event in question turned out to be ‘Leap of Faith,’ one of the Saucer’s two timed jumping-puzzle courses; Gogoha had quickly reached the top of the run and spent the remaining minutes waiting in vain for her dear to catch up.

“Wretched legs,” Livorette groans, only half jokingly, from her impromptu seat on the floor. “What is the earthly good of having them, I swear they’re only made of disobedient knees…”

“Could have fooled me,” Gogoha tells her. “But you didn’t do thatbadly; I was watching. You made it halfway up a lot of times—you just had a little trouble with judging your distances.”

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘serves you right for climbing in heels.’”

“I was  _trying_  to be nice.”  

“Usually they do listen,” Livorette laments. “Must have gotten out on the wrong side of the bed, and took until now to let me know about it. Wretched, wretched legs…”

Gogoha tsks. “All right, enough of that. We should get something to drink before we do anything else.”

They climb the sloping path to the second floor, the nap of the red carpet springing back under their feet. The sounds of music and chatter, bells and boasts, seem to get louder as they go higher- rippling endlessly across each other in the top of the ceiling. Gogoha trails a little behind, watching the edges of Livorette’s shorts flash in and out of view.

What? She’s allowed.

Upon arrival in the Manderville Lounge, they proceed to astound the bartender by requesting-

“ _Water_?” the man says, his eyes nearly as wide as the eponymous saucers.

“Please,” Livorette answers. Then, because the poor fellow really seems disappointed, “With a lemon slice in, if you have one?”

“Very well, miss.” To console himself, he adds not only the slice but a twist of rind on the glass’s rim. “And for you, miss?” he adds to Gogoha.

She is badly tempted to ask for the hardest-hitting drink he’s got, but she knows it won’t help her thirst. “Er… same as her, if you don’t mind.”

He clearly does, but he pours the second water with good grace. Gogoha takes it, slides him the necessary gil, and proceeds to down the whole thing in a couple of gulps. She still feels overheated.

Should she say it now…?

But the bartender might hear. Besides—before she can open her mouth, there are the event bells again, and Livorette turns to her with eyes a-sparkle.

“Of course,” Gogoha answers her unspoken question. “Off with us.”

* * *

It’s the airplane ride this time. Air Force One, they call it. Gogoha takes great pleasure in hitting every target. If only she could find the moment to say what she must, and say it, as easily.

_Pow_ , look Livorette in the eyes.  _Pow_ , actually use her voice.  _Pow_ , form the words she’s started to plan out.  _Pow_ , see those blue-gray eyes go wide with surprise, hear those pink-stained lips form the answer she’s almost sure she’ll receive… 

“High score!” the attendant cheers as Gogoha steps from her plane. “Well done, miss!”

“High score?” Livorette repeats, delighted. “Oh Gogo! That deserves a prize. Anything you like, right now, what do you say?”

_Five minutes alone with you! Really alone!_  is on the tip of Gogoha’s tongue. And yet she cannot say it. 

“I… We can save it,” she ends up replying, for the bells are ringing yet again. 

“Are you sure?”

“You know I won’t forget it. Besides… we came here to play, didn’t we?” 

Livorette beams. “Race you!” 

Gogoha actually beats her, out of sheer determination. 

‘Any Way the Wind Blows’ is an absolutely awful name for a game which amounts to nothing more than hoping to dodge a foul creature’s breath, but what the hells. To Gogoha’s surprise, she lucks out more than once. On the third gust, however, she is not so fortunate; she skids off the stage and lands directly in the surrounding fountain. 

Cool at last. Gogoha sits submerged well past the waist, determinedly not thinking of how annoying it will be when she has to get out and go to whatever damn thing is on next. Squish, squish across the carpet in wet stockings. Whoever designed the Saucer really ought to have thought twice before putting aqueous decoration around a platform off which guests are likely to fall. 

Then again, it may have been done on purpose.

Lovely, lovely cool water. Gogoha seriously considers lying down right where she is. Next moment, she no longer needs to consider: there is an enormous splash as Livorette crashes into the water beside her and achieves exactly the same effect. 

“Ow! -Oh no, Gogo, I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “Your poor wreath- your hair- are you all right?” 

Gogoha opens her mouth to respond, then finds it suddenly harder to breathe. For in her landing, Livorette has drenched the both of them, and if there’s one thing that always leaves Gogoha lost for words- well. 

“I’m sure they’ll bring us towels if we ask. We just need to get-” Livorette attempts to rise, but slips. “Oh drat…”

Being that she’s not really of a height to help, Gogoha can only watch her dear make the next two or three tries. As Livorette never gets far off the ground, the resulting splashes are small, and indeed refreshing: particularly on her cheeks, which seem to be warmer by the second. Mayhap they should simply spend the rest of their date right here.

“Oh for gods’  _sake_ ,” Livorette huffs. “That’s it, to hells with dignity.” So saying, she rolls to one side; getting her knees under her, she crawls up the slope from fountain to carpet and stands in triumph. “Finally. Gogoha, do you need…”

She trails off, staring. As well she might, for Gogoha feels her face is on fire now, and no amount of water (however restorative) will quench it. The view just now was  _spectacular_.

“Why Gogoha Goha,” Livorette says softly, a mischievous light beginning to kindle in her eyes. “You’re sitting there on purpose, aren’t you?”

“No,” Gogoha answers, automatically, though it sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.

“You are,” Livorette grins. “I might have known! We could have gone to Costa del Sol instead. Oh darling, why didn’t you tell me you just fancied a bit of swimming?”

“Didn’t want to disappoint you…”

“Noble soul!” Livorette presses a hand to her chest; a few trickles of water well up beneath her palm and run down to fall from the sweater hem. “But all the same, my love, we really ought to get you out of there.” The mischief-light twinkles brighter. “I still owe you your prize—or no, don’t tell me… is this what you want?”

She’s about to strike a pose. Right there, in her water-retentive sweater, in the damp-darkened pink scarf. One long leg is on the point of extending. Gogoha, in a sudden panic, scrambles to her feet and scoops a double handful of water right into her dear’s face.

There is a brief pause.

Slowly, Livorette pushes her fringe off her brow, scrubs the water out of her eyes. Her lips curl into a wicked smile.

“I see,” she says.

And just like that, it’s on.


	17. Lingua Volgare - pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Anniversary Date continues; Gogoha continues to search for her right words.

It is not a long battle, but it is a glorious one. Livorette struggles to stay upright, due not only to her heels but to being doubled over with laughter more often than not; Gogoha happily slings wave after wave in her dear’s direction, and is met with as good as she gives. This is the most fun she has had since they arrived. So much so, in fact, that she feels certain significant words bubbling up—

At which point they are interrupted by none other than “Senor Sabotender” himself, with a pair of appropriately sized towels draped over his dapper shoulder. He is accompanied by one of the staff, a stern-featured fellow whose polite yet fixed smile is all the hint either of them need.

“So dreadfully sorry,” Livorette grins, taking her towel and stepping jauntily out of the water. “We got a bit carried away.”

“It happens, madam,” the man replies. “It also happens that you and your companion are requested in the lounge, in a few minutes’ time. I suggest you make your way there… carefully.”

For an instant, Gogoha wonders if they are about to actually be thrown out, but Livorette’s cheer does not so much as flicker. “We will, sir.”

They make their way once more to the second level, walking partly on the strip of tile between carpet and wall. Gogoha takes the lead this time—as Livorette feels compelled to stop every so often and wring a little more water out of her hem onto the ceramics. Arriving at the lounge, a fit of belated embarrassment compels Gogoha to choose the most obscure of the tables. She climbs into a seat facing the wall, wraps the towel round herself and huddles within.

“Don’t worry,” Livorette says, taking the chair beside her. “It’s going to be fine. You see-”

“Well now!” says a voice rather louder than Gogoha would like. “Mistress Farouche, a pleasure to see you, but whatever has happened? You look as if you’ve come straight from a dip in Bronze Lake.”

“Not bronze, ser, but gold!” Livorette laughs, standing to greet the speaker: a white-haired Highlander, well moustached, with a set of six dots inked upon his forehead and a pair of dark spectacles on his nose. Despite the white coatee and black shorts, and the fact that she is certain she has never seen him before, Gogoha feels there is something… familiar about him. 

“Ah yes,” Ser Specs chortles. “I see, I see. The wind makes fools of us all, in that game.” Then, to Gogoha’s great surprise, he approaches-  _her_. “Good evening, miss,” he says, at a much more palatable volume. “Godbert Manderville, at your service. I hope your stay has been pleasant, unplanned water landings aside?”

Godbert Manderville.  _Manderville_. As in the very man depicted in the statue not twenty fulms from this table. As in the bloody  _owner_  of this whole place. Gogoha really ought not to be so shocked, and yet… “Gogoha Goha,” she replies. “And frankly, ser, you should consider making the water landing a feature. So people can plan for it.”

Ser Manderville is silent for a moment, taking this in. Then- “A water feature,” he repeats thoughtfully, eyebrows rising. “Like a Moonfire Faire all the year round… What a splendid suggestion, Mistress Goha! I shall thoroughly consider it. But now, if you and Mistress Farouche would be good enough to follow me?”

* * *

It is too much. It is absolutely, utterly too much. Gogoha is nearly paralyzed with it.

True, she has been wishing for privacy, but she hardly expected it to come in the form of the newly built Manderville Gold Teacup: a tiny hotel nestled into the top of the Gold Saucer, of which she and Livorette are the very first guests. Apparently Livorette is “my son’s good friend,” which counts for enough with Ser Manderville that he wants her opinion on this latest facet of his establishment. So here they are, in a set of rooms dubbed the “Honey Sweet.”

Certainly, it is far easier on the eyes than the Saucer’s gaudy decor: everything is in soft shades of cream, ivory and yellow, from the carpet to the ceiling; the only exception is the gleaming wood of the furniture. There is a little table and chairs in one corner, under which the carpet gives way to butter-colored tile, and above which hangs a glass lamp whose shape Livorette immediately identified as that of an arum flower. (Indeed, there are floral motifs everywhere; they are subtle but legion. Livorette will doubtless attempt to pick them all out in due time.)

The bathroom door is open, and she can hear the sound of running water, mingled with Livorette’s uneven humming. When the bath is all ready, she has told her love, she will come in. For now she stands beside the table, still dressed aside from her stockings and shoes- those came off almost the second Ser Manderville left.

Honestly, it isn’t the richness of these new surroundings that is making Gogoha increasingly frantic. It’s the fact that they are, at last, properly alone—meaning that she now has the chance to achieve her original goal for this entire date. She’d wanted five minutes. Now she has the whole night.

And she has no idea how to ask the question.

She knows Livorette will not belittle her for being less than eloquent. But Livorette, perhaps more than anyone,  _deserves_ eloquence. For once in Gogoha’s life, she wants to speak from the heart, instead of just retreating behind a red face and lowered eyes—and all her brain can supply is an endless string of swear words…

…Ah. There’s the sound of the tap turning off.

“Coming,” she calls, and suits action to words before Livorette has uttered so much as a sound to the effect of “come in.”

Inside, Gogoha is met with an expanse of marble floor and pearly tiles, accented with yellow-and-white bouquets in vases nearly as tall as her. The bathtub looks quite big enough for the average grown Roegadyn to comfortably recline; she wonders if she will have to stand up to keep her head above water—no. Forget that. She steels herself.

“Liv?”

“Here I am,” Livorette sings, stepping out from behind a painted screen in a corner of the room. “Bath’s all ready, love, and they’ve got robes hanging back here-”

“Liv.”

“-all sizes of ‘em, wait til you feel how soft they-”

“ _Liv_.”

She blinks. “Gogo, is something wrong?”

“N-no—”  _ha_ — “not wrong, I- no. I need to sell you someth- agh. I teed to nell you- gah! I  _need_  to  _tell you something_ ,” Gogoha grinds out.  _Great work. Just great._

Livorette nods, cautiously, and sits on the side of the tub. “All right, er- shoot.”

Her feet are genuinely, unhelpfully cold on the marble floor. She shivers.  _Eloquence, damn it._ “Livorette, I—um—hey. This is kind of sudden, but it’s also been a long time coming, and I thought—er… You know I love you, right?” She plows on. “Right, because—you’re amazing. You’re kind, and a little daft, and also beautiful, and also stupidly good at way too many things, and—and—shit. You know all that. How could you not, but I—no, don’t look like that, I’m trying to—it’s a good thing!”

“It is?” Worry is hovering around Livorette’s brow.

“ _Yes_ , damn it—” Gogoha cuts herself off. She means to go gently to one knee; she crashes onto it instead, and the impact jolts her tongue loose: “Marryme.”

“…What?”

She tries again, heart thundering. “Will you. Marry me?”

Silence.

Then she realizes- “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. I forgot, I don’t have anything to give you, I don’t have a- a flower or a ring or-”

There’s a choked little cry: “Oh  _Gogo_ ,” and next moment she’s wrapped close in Livorette’s trembling embrace. “You don’t need that, you don’t-”

“Yes I do, I- wait, are you saying no?”

“ _No_! I mean, yes! I mean, I’m not saying no, I- yes of  _course_  I’ll marry you!”

Lucky they’re down here already. Gogoha feels like passing out with sheer relief. “Oh. Good,” she says, faintly, and slightly muffled under the positive rain of kisses now falling on every ilm of her face. “You’re… you’re sure it’s all right? Really?”

“I’d marry you with an onion ring,” Livorette says, between kisses. “Or a bit of grass, or twine, or- or anything, Twelve help me, I’d marry you this  _minute_  if I could, don’t you know that?”

“…Yeah,” Gogoha manages. “Yeah. I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of these last two chapters is Italian for "vulgar language," although the actual such language only comes at the end of this one. I was rooting around in Google for a title idea- something related to the eloquence for which Gogoha is striving- and ended up on a Wikipedia article about Dante's unfinished essay "On eloquence in the vernacular." Steal the last two words of that phrase, voila.
> 
> Credit for the appalling pun name of 'Honey Sweet' goes to @stars_bleed_hearts_shine, who also helped me decide firmly on the name of the Gold Teacup.
> 
> I post this on the day of my actual in-game wedding, which as of this writing is happening in about 8 hours and 20 minutes, and I tell you I think I might die of excitement. I really think I might. :D :D


	18. Lingua Volgare - pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Fast Times in the Gold Teacup. 
> 
> Because I felt there needed to be just one more scene from this lovely night with our girls.

The bath here is a wonder, truly: not only is it built with seats like steps leading down to the center, thereby allowing users to submerge as much or little of themselves as they like, but the water seems not to have lost an onze of heat in the time between the tap shutting off and Gogoha's accepted proposal. She chooses her seat so as to be covered from about mid-shoulder down, then spends a good five minutes doing naught but relishing the blissful warmth before she gets to the actual business of bathing.

She does succeed in washing her face, and all such easily accessible regions. But then Livorette asks for help washing her back, and Gogoha knows it is only a matter of time.

“We've got to get a tub like this of our own, someday,” Livorette says dreamily as Gogoha lathers up her hands. “With steps like this, all deep and everything. I can't think of a day that wouldn't be improved by bathing in such splendor. Can you?”

It's a rhetorical question, but Gogoha answers anyway. “Hm... bet I could, but I don't feel like it. Too busy enjoying this one.”

She rubs the soap in a little harder, as if it is massage oil. Kneads at some of the knots in her dear's shoulders, loosening them just a touch. Rubs her thumbs in circles down Livorette's spine and thrills to hear the responding little moans under her ministrations.

She could move in. Could run her teeth along the side of that long golden neck, could nibble the tension out of those elegantly sloping shoulders. Instead, she lets her nails hint at the idea—a scrape here, a dig there—til the soap has gone and there's nothing to do but splash up some of the water for a rinse.

“Your turn,” Livorette says, instead of “thank you,” and Gogoha almost trembles.

Despite being able to cover more ground, as it were, with her larger hands, Livorette still somehow contrives to linger just as much if not more than Gogoha has done. She works her fingertips over every ilm of Gogoha's back until it is an active struggle to remain upright, until Gogoha sinks pliably into her arms.

“That's my girl,” Livorette says softly. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay.”

One long arm wraps under her legs, keeping her cradled with her back against Livorette's chest. The other arm braces them as they exit the tub. Pausing only to collect robes and towels, Livorette carries Gogoha to bed.

It's a beautiful bed, Gogoha is sure- she has her eyes closed as they move to it, feeling the soft thump of Livorette's heartbeat, lost in the warmth of skin against skin. They pause at the bedside while Livorette makes arrangements, and then they're settling down again.

When Gogoha opens her eyes: silk. Lots of it. Or something that shimmers in a similar way. It's the curtains, the bedspread, even the walls of this room (which are not papered, but upholstered, looking plush and smooth). Those last are a sort of frosted millioncorn yellow, or maybe the frost effect is simply due to the fact that the end of the bed is hung across with semi-translucent curtains shining the pale gold of beeswax. _They're really running with this honey theme, aren't they..._

But Gogoha is more concerned with the warm expanse of Livorette at her back, and the contrasting coolness of the rest of the room- she shivers a bit, noticing this.

“Cold?”

“A little...”

“Here,” and Livorette unhooks the side curtains, so that they're ensconced in a bit more warmth; then she takes her bathrobe and puts it over them both. Pulls up the bedclothes on top, for good measure. “Is that better?”

“Mm...”

A kiss drops on her hair. “Good.”

Gogoha closes her eyes again and nestles into Livorette: into the firm thighs that form a seat beneath her, into the twin cushions of her breasts on either side of Gogoha's neck. “You said you were going to take care of me,” she murmurs.

“So I did.”

They stay under the covers at first. Livorette lets her fingers do the talking. One hand caresses the curve from Gogoha's waist to her rear; the other plays around her chest, slow and sensual. Gogoha feels herself melting a little as Livorette softly squeezes her hip, as she cradles her bust. “Like those, do you?”

“They're perfect,” Livorette breathes. “Exquisite. Shaped by Menphina herself.” Another squeeze to the hip. “As is the rest of you.”

She hitches her legs up under Gogoha, the better to lavish her with kisses- all along her shoulders from one side to the other, then up to press at the nape of her neck. Her tongue slips out, fluttering lightly over Gogo's skin, sending goosebumps down her spine. The petting hasn't stopped, and she would like to reciprocate a little, but being so closely embraced makes it difficult; she compromises by touching whatever she can reach. Which... isn't much.

“Don't you worry about me,” Livorette tells her, still working away.

“But it's not-” Gogo sucks in a breath through her teeth at a pinch to her nipple. “-fair. You're being so nice, I want to make you- ffffeel nice too...”

“There'll be time enough for that later. It's your turn right now.”

She punctuates this by running her tongue along the edge of Gogo's ear, flirting it around the tip. Her hands move more firmly now—the higher one covers both her tits, squashing them together in a delicious grip, while the lower one rubs circles on Gogo's hips, running over her abdomen, darting over the tops of her thighs. There are more pinches, above and below; there's squeezing and kneading and Gogo feels heat rising all through her, feels her core begin to ache. Thank gods the covers have long since fallen away.

“Gorgeous,” come the whispers in her ear. “My Gogo, my gorgeous girl. My wife that is to be.”

Patience has never been one of Gogoha's strong suits. Livorette is busily attending to every part of her except one, and the situation is rapidly becoming urgent. Gogo shifts, spreads her thighs, trying to hint without losing her seat. When nothing changes, she spreads a little wider, then a little more.

“All right, love?” Gogo can hear the smirk in Livorette's voice.

“Touch me.”

“But I am touching you,” Livorette purrs.

Gogoha groans. “Godsdamnit, Liv.”

“What? I am,” and to prove it she gives another tug on Gogo's tits.

“You know what I mean!”

“Do I?” Livorette's fingers brush tantalizingly low. “Perhaps you'd better make it clear...”

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Gogo means to snap, but it comes out as more of a moan because Liv has just scraped her teeth along Gogo's shoulder. “T-touch me... inside.” No result. “Inside me, Liv, please...”

“If that means what I think it means-”

“Yes, yes, godsdamnit!”

Livorette laughs, low and filthy in her ear, and finally slips a finger between her legs—making them both gasp. “Oh, Gogo,” she breathes appreciatively. “You're _brimming._ ”

She slides in and out, stroking, her movements gone slow again, humming happily. It's good, she's good, she knows every spot that makes Gogoha feel so good, but one finger can only cover so much territory.

“So sweet,” Liv whispers, “so sweet for me,” and adds another finger. Curls them together, coaxing, going deeper by degrees.

Gogoha pushes her head back against her lover's shoulder, feeling the stretch even as her slick eases the way. She's trying to hang on, she really is, but- “More,” she rasps.

“In a moment.”

“ _Liv,_ ” she whines. “Come on.”

She doesn't expect to be answered for another minute or five, so the entrance of a third finger comes as quite the surprise. Livorette keeps still for a few moments, letting her adjust, before starting to move once more.

This is what Gogo's been waiting for. Livorette's arm wrapped around her waist, Livorette's mouth at her ear. Livorette's beautiful long fingers working deep inside her. Gogo is breathing fast now, whimpering wordless, grinding desperately down onto a hand wet with her own juices.

“My girl,” Livorette says, “my beautiful girl, my sweetest Gogoha, that's it, darling,” working her hand with terrible, wonderful precision. “That's it, my love, ride as hard as you like, go on-”

-and just like that, the heat goes white behind Gogo's eyes, and she's clenching down on Livorette's fingers as she comes undone.

When she can think again, she's being cradled against Livorette's shoulder, wiped clean on a corner of the bathrobe that's still pooled around them.

“My Gogoha,” Livorette is saying softly over her head. “I've got you, love. I told you—I'll take care of you.”

 


End file.
